


Sun and Shadow (Explicit)

by Ahab2631



Series: Grisha Remix [4]
Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Alina Died, Alina Grew Up Using Her Powers, Alina Turns The Tables, Alina Was Found As A Twenty-Something, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Badass Sunbending, Baghra Banter, But I'm Not "Normal", But Not Fedyor D:, DID YOU MISS ME HAPPY?, Does Anyone Read All Of These?, Every Spoiler Ever, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Hopefully More Harshaw Than Normal, I Am Become A Blade, I Read All Of These, I'll Be Honest I Probably Didn't Miss You, I'm Probably Safe, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Ivan Is Back, Maybe Between Nikolai And The Darkling, New tricks - Freeform, Nikolina Sass-Offs, Not Right Away, Now Only The Saint Is Left, On Pretty Much Everyone, Oncat, Oncat Again Because Oncat, Questioning Morality, Really Just Can We All Marry Nikolai, Romantic Angst, Romantic Rivalry, SHUT UP APPARAT I WILL PUNCH YOU IN THE THROAT WITH MY WEAK LITTLE FIST, Seriously. Nikolai., The Slow-Burn Ends, There Will Be Heartbreak, Wait No That's A Spoiler, Where Would The Fun Be In That? :D, character exposition, compromises, eventually, i promise nothing, metaphorically, “I killed my sense of adventure to make room for duty and suicidal heroism.”
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-02 19:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 165,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11515893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahab2631/pseuds/Ahab2631
Summary: The last part of my AU "rewrite" of Bardugo's wonderful series. In it, Alina grew up using her powers and was found as a twenty-something. Consequently, annoying people are much less annoying *coughMalcough*.This is Bardugo's series, word for word, but with tweaks and added scenes. Later in this "book," I go completely off the rails to follow the AU, thus landing us at an ending different from canon.From the first two works: "Basically, read this if you've been wanting to re-read the trilogy but don't want to have to go through the parts that frustrated you again. That is literally the whole reason I am doing this."Also from the first two works: "If for some reason you find yourself here and haven't read the original (which you really should, because so good), please consider trading in your morning cup of coffee for a book. Leigh's work is her livelihood."UPDATE: If you prefer no more than canon-levels of swearing and smut, gohere.Is for you.





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> Respectful corrections and critiques wholeheartedly encouraged. And as always, if there's something cringe-worthy, don't let me be "that author." >_>
> 
> No Six of Crows or Crooked Kingdom spoilers in the comments, please. ~~I (stiiiill) haven't read them yet.~~
> 
> I won't be italicizing the "Russian."
> 
> My standard disclaimer usually involves something about how I never abandon a fic, ever. That doesn't fit here though, because this project has damn near become a part of my soul. I could no sooner stop writing it than I could cut off a finger.
> 
> ...If that seems lukewarm, it's only because I'm super literal, and I hate exaggerating. My point is, now that I'm working on the end, don't get scared if a long time goes by between updates. This isn't going anywhere.
> 
> NOTE: my darling, beloved, most cherished Beta is AWOL, so until further notice, this baby is commando.

The monster’s name was Izumrud, the great worm, and there were those who claimed he had made the tunnels that ran beneath Ravka. Sick with appetite, he ate up silt and gravel, burrowing deeper and deeper into the earth, searching for something to satisfy his hunger, until he’d gone too far and lost himself in the dark.

It was only a story, but in the White Cathedral, people were careful not to stray too far from the passages that curled around the main caverns. Strange sounds echoed through the dim warren of tunnels, groans and unexplained rumblings; cold pockets of silence were broken by low hisses that might be nothing or might be the sinuous movement of a long body, snaking closer through a nearby passage in search of prey. In those moments, it was easy to believe that Izumrud still lived somewhere, waiting to be woken by the call of heroes, dreaming of the fine meal he would have if only some hapless child would walk into his mouth. A beast like that rests; he does not die.

The boy brought the girl this tale, and others too, all the new stories he could gather, in the early days when he was allowed near her. He would sit beside her bed, trying to get her to eat, listening to the pained whistle of her lungs, and he would tell the story of a river, tamed by a powerful Tidemaker and trained to dive through layers of rock, seeking a magic coin. He’d whisper of poor cursed Pelyekin, laboring for a thousand years with his magic pickaxe, leaving caverns and passages in his wake, a lonely creature in search of nothing but distraction, amassing gold and jewels he never intended to spend.

Then, one morning, the boy arrived to find his way to the girl’s room barred by armed men. And when he would not leave, they dragged him from her door in chains. The priest warned the boy that faith would bring him peace and obedience would keep him breathing.

Locked in her cell, alone but for the drip of the water and the slow beat of her heart, the girl knew the stories of Izumrud were true. She had been swallowed whole, devoured, and in the echoing alabaster belly of the White Cathedral, only the Saint remained.

 

* * * * *

 

The Saint woke every day to the sound of her name being chanted, and each day her army grew, its ranks swollen with the hungry and the hopeless and the afraid, with wounded soldiers and children barely large enough to carry rifles. The priest told the faithful that she would be Queen one day, and they believed him. But they wondered at her bruised and mysterious court: the raven-haired Squaller with her sharp tongue, the Ruined One with her black prayer shawl and hideous scars, the pale scholar who huddled away with his books and strange instruments. These were the sorry remnants of the Second Army—unfit company for a Saint.

Few knew that she was broken. Whatever power had blessed her, divine or otherwise, was gone—or at least out of reach. Her followers were kept at a distance so they could not see that her eyes were dark hollows, that her breath came in frightening gasps. She walked slowly, tentatively, her driftwood bones fragile in her body, this sickly girl upon whom all their hopes rested.

On the surface, a new King ruled with his shadow army, and he demanded that his Sun Summoner be returned. He offered threats and rewards, but the answer he received came in the form of a challenge—from an outlaw the people had dubbed the Prince of the Air. He struck along the northern border, bombing supply lines, forcing the Shadow King to renew trade and travel across the Fold with nothing but luck and Inferni fire to keep the monsters at bay. Some said this challenger was a Lantsov prince. Some said he was a Fjerdan rebel who refused to fight alongside witches. But all agreed he must have powers of his own.

The Saint rattled the bars of her underground cage. This was her war, and she demanded freedom to fight it. The priest refused.

But he’d forgotten that before she’d become a Grisha and a Saint, she’d been a ghost of Keramzin. She and the boy had hoarded secrets as Pelyekin hoarded treasure. They knew how to be thieves and phantoms, how to hide strength as well as mischief. Like the teachers at the Duke’s estate, the priest thought he knew the girl and what she was capable of.

He was wrong.

He did not hear their hidden language, did not understand the boy’s quiet resolve. He did not see the moment the girl ceased to bear her weakness as a burden and began to wear it as a guise.


	2. Rats, Rabbits, and Snakes

I stood on a carved stone balcony, arms spread, shivering in my cheap robes, and tried to put on a good show. My kefta was a patchwork, sewn together from scraps of the gown I was wearing the night we fled the palace, and garish curtains that I’d been told came from a defunct theater somewhere near Sala. Beads from the lobby chandeliers made up the trim. The embroidery at the cuffs was already coming undone. David and Genya had done their best, but there were limited resources underground.

From a distance, it did the trick: sparkling gold in the light that seemed to emanate from my palms, sending bright glimmers over the enraptured faces of my followers so far below. Up close, it was all loose threads and false shine. Just like me. The threadbare Saint.

The Apparat’s voice boomed through the White Cathedral, and the crowd swayed, eyes closed, hands raised, a field of poppies, arms like pale stalks shaken by some wind I couldn’t feel. I followed a choreographed series of gestures, moving deliberately so that David and whichever Inferni was helping him this morning could track my movements from their position in the chamber hidden just above the balcony. I dreaded morning prayers, but according to the priest, these false displays were a necessity.

“It is a gift you give your people, Sankta Alina,” he said. “It is hope.”

Actually, it was an illusion, a pale suggestion of the light I’d once commanded, even before the Darkling had welded the stag’s antlers around my neck. The golden haze was really Inferni fire, reflected off a beaten mirror dish that David had fashioned from salvaged glass. It was something like the dishes we’d used in our failed attempt to stave off the Darkling’s horde in Os Alta. But most of the Apparat’s flock had never seen what their Saint could really do, and for now, this deception was enough.

The Apparat finished his sermon. That was the signal to end. The Inferni let the light flare bright around me. It jumped and wavered erratically, then finally faded as I dropped my arms. Well, now I knew who was on fire duty with David. I cast a scowl up at the cave. Harshaw. He was always getting carried away. Three Inferni had made it out of the battle at the Little Palace, but one had died just days later from her wounds. Of the two that remained, Harshaw was the most powerful and the most unpredictable.

I stepped down from the platform, eager to be out of the Apparat’s presence, but my foot faltered and I stumbled. The priest grasped my arm, steadying me.

“Have a care, Alina Starkov. You are incautious with your safety.”

I didn’t nod or even look in his direction, but I had no choice but to accept his help. The network of caverns had done nothing to improve his stench.

“You’re feeling poorly today.”

“You don’t say,” I replied bitterly. I was stronger than when I’d come to the White Cathedral—my bones had mended, I managed to keep down most meals—but I was still frail, my body plagued by aches and constant fatigue.

“Perhaps a day of rest, then.”

I gritted my teeth. Another day confined to my chamber.

“I’m very cold,” I said, softening my voice, but not managing to take all the iron out of it. “Time in the Kettle will do me good.” Strictly speaking, it was true. The kitchens were the one place in the White Cathedral where the damp could be held at bay. By this time, at least one of the breakfast fires would be lit. The big round cavern would be full of the smells of baking bread and the sweet porridge the cooks made from stores of dried peas and powdered milk provided by allies on the surface and stockpiled by the pilgrims.

I added a shiver for good measure, but the priest’s only reply was a noncommittal “hmm.”

Fire lit in my blood, but movement at the base of the cavern distracted me: pilgrims, newly arrived. I couldn’t help but look at them with a strategic eye. Some wore uniforms that marked them as First Army deserters. All were young and able-bodied.

“No veterans?” I asked coolly. “No widows? No injured?”

“It’s a hard journey underground,” the Apparat replied. “Many are too old or weak to move. They prefer to stay in the comfort of their homes.”

“Of course,” I said. It was just civil enough that he could pretend I was agreeing with him, though he knew I wasn’t. The pilgrims came on crutches and canes, no matter how old or sick, when they wanted to. Even dying, they came to see the Sun Saint in their last days. I cast a sidelong glance over my shoulder. I could just glimpse the Priestguards, bearded and heavily armed, standing sentinel in the archway. They were monks, scholar priests like the Apparat, and belowground they were the only people allowed to carry weapons. Above, they were the gatekeepers, ferreting out spies and unbelievers, granting sanctuary to those they deemed worthy. Lately, the pilgrims’ numbers had been dwindling, and those who did join our ranks were more hearty than pious. The Apparat wanted soldiers, not just mouths to feed.

“I can go to the sick and elderly, if you prefer,” I said, tone clipped. “Too many more ‘days of rest’ and your Sun Saint is going to go mad from cabin fever.” I knew the argument was futile. I made it anyway, as always. “And a Saint should walk amongst her people, no? Give them hope. Not hide like a rat in a warren.”

The Apparat smiled—the benevolent, indulgent smile that the pilgrims adored and that made me want to take his head off. “In times of trouble, many animals go to ground. That’s how they survive,” he said. “After fools wage their battles, it is the rats that rule the fields and towns.”

 _And feast on the dead,_ I thought. “Like a rabbit, then. Or a snake,” I said with a shadow of the acidic smile I’d once managed so often. As if he could read my thoughts, he pressed a hand to my shoulder. His fingers were long and white, splaying over my arm like a waxen spider. If the gesture was meant to comfort me, it failed.

“Patience, Alina Starkov. We rise when the time is right and not before.”

Patience. That was always his prescription. I resisted the urge to touch my bare wrist, the empty place where the firebird’s bones were meant to reside. I had claimed the sea whip’s scales and the stag’s antlers, but the final piece in Morozova’s puzzle was missing. We might have had the third amplifier by now if the Apparat had lent his support to the hunt or even just let us return to the surface. But when that permission finally came, it would be at a price.

“I’m cold,” I repeated, fighting myself to inject some of the poor, frail, helpless Saint he so loved to see. “The Kettle will do me good.”

He frowned. “I don’t like you huddling down there with that girl—”

Behind us, the guards muttered restlessly, and a word floated back to me. Razrusha’ya. I slapped the Apparat’s hand away and stormed into the passage - as well as I could, anyway. The Priestguards came to attention. Like all their brothers, they were dressed in brown and wore the golden sunburst, the same symbol that marked the Apparat’s robes. My symbol. But they never looked directly at me, never spoke to me or the other Grisha refugees. Instead, they stood silently at the edges of rooms and trailed me everywhere like bearded, rifle-wielding specters.

“Say that again and I will kill you myself,” I warned, raising to my full height and glaring one of them in the eyes. I still had to crane my neck to meet his face.

They stared straight ahead, as if I were invisible. “Her name is Genya Safin, and I would be worse than the Darkling’s plaything if it weren’t for her.” No reaction. But I saw them tense at even the sound of her name. Grown men with guns, afraid of a scarred girl. Superstitious idiots. “Coward,” I uttered, venom in my tone. Too many days locked away, too many days spent arguing with a slimy, black-toothed priest had my temper boiling too close to the surface.

“Peace, Sankta Alina,” said the Apparat, taking my elbow to shepherd me across the passage and into his audience chamber. It was all I could do not to yank out of his grip. The silver-veined stone of the ceiling was carved into a rose, and the walls were painted with Saints in their golden halos. It must have been Fabrikator craft because no ordinary pigment could withstand the cold and damp of the White Cathedral. The priest settled himself in a low wooden chair and gestured for me to take another. I tried to hide my relief as I sank down into it. Even standing for too long left me winded.

He peered at me, taking in my sallow skin, the dark smudges beneath my eyes. “Surely Genya can do more for you.”

It had been over two months since my battle with the Darkling, and I had hardly recovered. My cheekbones cut the hollows of my face like angry exclamations, and the white fall of my hair was so brittle it seemed to hang like dried grass. I’d finally talked the Apparat into letting Genya attend me in the kitchens with the promise that she might work her craft and make me more presentable. It was the only real contact I’d had with the other Grisha in weeks. I savored every moment, every bit of news.

“Surely you remember what I looked like before she started working on me.”

The priest sighed. “I suppose we must all be patient. You will heal in time. Through faith. Through prayer.”

A surge of rage took hold of me. He knew damn well that the only thing that would heal me was using my power, but to do that, I needed to return to the surface.

“I _have_ always found superstition much more effective than actual medicine. A man in my unit got blood poisoning from a wound, once. I said a wish over it on a full moon, and what do you know, good as new. Another time--”

“Your glibness does you no credit, Alina Starkov,” he said as if gently. “But I understand. Sometimes humor is all we are left with. But it is not all _you_ are left with. You have the faithful. You are too precious to us to risk, Sankta Alina, and the risk is far too great.” He shrugged apologetically. “The Darkling’s forces hunt for you even now. You will not have a care for your safety, so I must.”

I stayed silent, my anger like a white-hot brand in every withered muscle. This was the game we played, that we’d been playing since I’d been brought here. The Apparat had done a lot for me. He was the only reason any of my Grisha had made it out of the battle with the Darkling’s monsters. He’d given us safe haven underground. But he had done it for himself, and every day the White Cathedral felt more like a prison than a refuge.

One morning, not long after I had begun to stand under my own power, I had grown tired of the game. I had lowered my arms in the middle of the light show and called out to the people to tell them that the Apparat was a fraud, nothing but a glorified jailor.

No sooner had I opened my lips wide and sucked in a breath then there had been a cry of pain from across the cavern, right where David and the Inferni were working. My head had turned so fast to the Apparat behind me that I had made myself dizzy - he only stood there with a benign look on his face, but I knew. One of the Priestguards had hurt my friends. My people, my Grisha. I stared him down, and he looked back calmly, raising his brows as if to ask if I was alright. Or to ask if I was sure I wanted to do what I had been about to do.

After that, I hadn’t attempted anything so obvious again. He was happy to make use of my friends, so long as we all did as we were told. If they didn’t, if _I_ didn’t, it was clear what would happen. The Apparat would twist the fate of whoever he chose into a justice, or claim it as a horrible accident.

The Apparat steepled his fingers. “Months gone by, and still you do not trust me.”

“How could I not? You follow the orders and wishes of the woman you worship so faithfully.”

“I do, Sankta. Everything I do is for you, for the faithful. And yet, you will not let me help you. With the firebird in our possession, all this might change.”

“David is working his way through Morozova’s journals,” I said coolly. “I’m sure the answer is there.” Actually, I was sure that if there was an answer anywhere, David would find it, but I did my best not to make any of my people sound too important to me. “It’s that faith you keep preaching to me, actually.”

The Apparat’s flat black gaze burrowed into me. He suspected I knew the location of the firebird—Morozova’s third amplifier and the key to unlocking the only power that might defeat the Darkling and destroy the Fold. And he was right. At least, I hoped he was. I was isolated underground, close to powerless, spied upon by the Priestguards. I wasn’t about to give up the one bit of actual leverage I had.

“I want only the best for you, Alina Starkov. For you and your friends.” I couldn’t help the slight narrowing of my eyes. “So few remain. If anything were to happen to them—”

“You touch them and I will bring this place down around you,” I said, my voice hard and cold and dangerous. For a moment, I almost felt like the woman I had been only months before. Almost. “If anything happens to a single one of them, I will hold you personally responsible, priest.” I practically spat the last word.

The Apparat’s look was too keen for my liking. “I simply meant that accidents happen underground. I know you would feel each loss deeply, and you are so very weak.” On the last word, his lips stretched back over his gums. They were black like a wolf’s.

It took everything I had not to lunge at him. Weak as I still was, I’d probably only hurt myself. But the chair I perched on was small. Maybe I could lift it and smack it into his face before he could call his guards.

“And that has what to do with the location of the firebird?” I replied, deadly sweet.

“Time, Sankta. Anything can happen so deep beneath the earth. The sooner we can fulfill your destiny, the sooner we can all reclaim the light.”

Again, rage coursed through me. From my first day in the White Cathedral, threat had hung heavy in the air, suffocating me with my inability to do anything to stop it. The Apparat never missed an opportunity to remind me of my vulnerability.

I wanted to stand up and leave. If I couldn’t fight him, at least I didn’t have to be around him. Instead, I looked away as if in resigned defeat. Almost without thinking, I twitched my fingers in my sleeves.

Shadows leapt up the walls of the chamber.

The Apparat reared back in his chair. I frowned at him, feigning worry at his obvious terror. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

He cleared his throat, eyes darting right and left. “I. . .i-- it’s nothing,” he stammered.

I let the shadows fall with vindictive satisfaction as I relaxed my fingers. I might be weak and broken; I would never be helpless. His reaction was well worth the wave of dizziness that came when I used this trick. And that was all it was. I could make the shadows jump and dance but nothing more. It was a sad little echo of the Darkling’s power, some remnant left behind in the wake of the confrontation that had nearly killed us both. I’d discovered it when trying to summon light, and I’d struggled to hone it to something greater, something I could fight with. I’d had no success. The shadows felt like a punishment, ghosts of greater power that served only to taunt me, the Saint of shams and mirrors. A piece of my own damnation was woven inextricably into my very being now. But at least I could use it to scare some fool priest.

The Apparat rose, attempting to regain his composure. “You will go to the archives,” he said decisively, ignoring the narrowing of my eyes. “Time in quiet study and contemplation will help to ease your mind.”

“And what will help to ease yours?” I asked quietly.

He looked down at me sharply.

This really was punishment—hours spent fruitlessly perusing old religious texts for information on Morozova. Not to mention that the archives were damp, miserable, and crawling with Priestguards. “I will escort you,” he added. Even better.

“The Kettle?” I asked coldly. I could rail against him all I wanted, but we both knew that in the end, all I would do was embarrass myself.

“Later. Razru— Genya will wait,” he said as I followed him into the passage. “You needn’t scurry off to the Kettle, you know. You could meet with her here. In privacy.”

I glanced at the guards, who had fallen into step behind us. Privacy. That was laughable. But the idea of being kept from the kitchens was not. Maybe today the master flue would open for more than a few seconds. It was a slim hope, but it was all the hope I had.

“The warmth in the Kettle helps me,” I said, voice benign once again. “You know that. I need to do everything I can to get better, don’t I? Like you said, faithful priest. So the people can see me.”

“. . .Very well,” he said at last.

I hid a surge of fierce victory.

It took a long while to wend our way down from the balcony. The White Cathedral took its name from the alabaster of its walls and the massive main cavern where we held services every morning and evening. But it was much more than that—a sprawling network of tunnels and caves, a city underground.

I hated every inch of it. The moisture that seeped through the walls, dripped from the ceilings, clustered in beads on my skin. The chill that couldn’t be dispelled. The toadstools and night flowers that bloomed in cracks and crevices. I hated the way we marked time: morning services, afternoon prayer, evening services, Saints’ days, days for fasting and half fasting. But mostly I hated the feeling that I really was a little rat, pale and red-eyed, scrabbling at the walls of my maze with feeble pink-tinged claws.

The Apparat led me through the caverns north of the main basin, where the Soldat Sol trained. People backed against the rock or reached out to touch my golden sleeve as we passed. I failed to understand how they couldn’t laugh at the rag I was in.

We set a slow pace, dignified—necessary. I couldn’t move any faster without getting winded. The Apparat’s flock knew I was sick and said prayers for my health, but he feared there would be a panic if they discovered just how fragile—how human—I was.

The Soldat Sol had already begun their training by the time we arrived. These were the Apparat’s - supposedly my - holy warriors, sun soldiers who bore my symbol tattooed on their arms and faces. Most of them were First Army deserters, though others were simply young, fierce, and willing to die. They’d helped to rescue me from the Little Palace, and the casualties had been brutal. Holy or not, they were no match for the Darkling’s nichevo’ya. Still, the Darkling had human soldiers and Grisha in his service too, so the Soldat Sol trained.

But now they did it without real weapons, with dummy swords and rifles loaded with wax pellets. The Soldat Sol were a different kind of pilgrim, brought to the cult of the Sun Saint by the promise of change, many of them young and ambivalent about the Apparat and the old ways of the church. Since my arrival underground, the Apparat had kept them on a far tighter leash. He needed them, but he didn’t wholly trust them, and if anyone would question him and listen more fully to me, it would be them.

Priestguards lined the walls, maintaining a close eye on the proceedings. Their bullets were real, and so were the blades of their sabers. Letting them watch the recruits as if they were prisoners was one of the first “compromises” I’d had to make.

As we entered the training area, I saw that a group had gathered to watch Mal spar with Stigg, one of our two surviving Inferni. He was thick-necked, blond, and utterly humorless—Fjerdan to the core.

Mal dodged an arc of fire, but the second spurt of flame caught on his shirt. The onlookers gasped. I suppressed a smile. He dove into a roll, dousing the flames on the ground and knocking Stigg’s feet from beneath him. In a flash, he had the Inferni pinned facedown. He secured Stigg’s wrists, preventing another attack.

The watching sun soldiers broke into appreciative applause and whistles, and an actual smile spread over my lips. It was more than a little smug.

“Well done, Stigg,” Zoya said. “You’re trussed and ready for basting.”

Mal silenced her with a look. “Distract, disarm, disable,” he said. “The trick is not to panic.” He rose and helped Stigg to his feet. “You all right?”

Stigg scowled, annoyed, but nodded and moved to spar with a pretty young soldier.

“Come on, Stigg,” the girl said with a wide grin. “I won’t go too rough on you.”

The girl’s face was familiar, but it took me a long moment to place her—Ruby. Mal and I had trained with her at Poliznaya. She’d been in our regiment for much of our service. I remembered her as giggling and cheerful, the kind of happy, flirtatious girl who never failed to catch Mal’s eye. And she had, more than once. She still had the same ready smile, the same long blond braid. But even from a distance, I could see the watchfulness in her, the wariness that came with war. There was a black sun tattooed over the right side of her face. Strange to think that a girl who had once sat across from me in the mess hall and seen me stumbling drunk now thought I was divine. She had tended to me once when I’d gotten food poisoning too, if I remembered right.

It was rare that the Apparat or his guards took me this way to the archives. What was different today? Had he brought me here so I could look over the shreds of my army and remember the price of my mistakes? To show me how few allies I had left? What was at risk if I stepped too far out of line?

I watched Mal pair sun soldiers with Grisha. There were the Squallers: Zoya, Nadia, and her brother Adrik. With Stigg and Harshaw, they made up the last of my Etherealki. But Harshaw was nowhere to be seen. He’d probably rolled back into bed after summoning flame for me during morning prayers.

As for the Corporalki, the only Heartrenders on the training floor were Tamar Tolya. They had told me on our way to the White Cathedral that their loyalty was to me, not to the Apparat. But they were close to him now, charged with the instruction of the Soldat Sol, and they’d lied to me for months at the Little Palace despite their professed faith. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of them. Trust was a luxury I could ill afford.

The remaining soldiers would have to wait for a turn to fight. There were simply too few Grisha. Genya and David kept to themselves, and weren’t much for combat, anyway. Maxim was a Healer and preferred to practice his craft in the infirmary, though few of the Apparat’s flock trusted the Grisha enough to take advantage of his services. Sergei was a powerful Heartrender, but I’d been told he was too unstable to be considered safe around students. Ruslan. . . truthfully I wasn’t sure what Ruslan was doing most of the time. I didn’t know if anyone was, really. He kept too close to himself - he had been distant since his twin’s death, but I didn’t think it was as simple as that.

 _It’s because of you,_ hissed a voice in my head. _Because you failed them all._ Images of the dead flashed past my eyes.

I was drawn from my bleak thoughts by the Apparat’s voice. “The man oversteps.”

I followed his gaze to where Mal was moving between the soldiers, speaking to one or correcting another. I rolled my eyes. “Yes it’s terribly impudent of him to make my soldiers _better at what they do,”_ I said.

“He’s giving orders. Oretsev,” the priest called, beckoning him over. I pursed my lips, watching Mal approach. I’d barely seen him since he’d been banned from my chamber. I’d tried to fight that, too. I’d flat-out ordered the guards to let him pass. That had been the day I’d found out who the Priestguard were loyal to. Aside from my carefully rationed interactions with Genya and occasionally passing David or Ruslan in the archives, the Apparat kept me isolated from any and all potential allies.

Mal looked different. He wore the peasant roughspun that had served as his uniform at the Little Palace, but he was leaner, paler from time spent belowground. The narrow scar on his jaw stood out in sharp relief.

He stopped before us and bowed. It was the closest we’d been allowed to each other in months.

“You are not the captain here,” said the Apparat. “Tolya and Tamar outrank you.”

I opened my mouth to snap at the old man, but Mal cut gracefully overtop of me.

Mal nodded. “They do.”

“So why are you leading the exercises?”

“I wasn’t leading anything,” he said. “I have something to teach. They have something to learn.”

“Why haven’t those recruits been marked?” the Apparat asked, gesturing toward a group sparring with wooden swords near the far wall. None of them could have been more than twelve years old.

“Because they’re children,” Mal replied, ice in his voice.

“It’s their choice. Would you deny them the chance to show fealty to our cause?”

I felt my anger flare, and the absence of the light that would normally accompany it.

“I’d deny them regret.”

“No one has that power.”

A muscle ticked in Mal’s jaw. “If we lose, those tattoos will brand them as sun soldiers. They might as well sign up to face the firing squad now.”

“Is that why your own features bear no mark? Because you have so little faith in our victory?”

Mal glanced at me, then back at the Apparat. “I save my faith for Saints,” he said evenly. “Not men who send children to die.”

The priest’s eyes narrowed.

 _”Enough,”_ I snapped. “It is _my will,”_ I said, enunciating clearly and loudly, “that no one so young be marked. I don’t care whether any of them get tattoos, to be frank. I find the whole process morbid and garish. Faith isn’t proven by letting someone stick a needle in your skin a thousand times, and anyone who thinks they have to prove theirs that way may not have much to begin with.”

I saw something move behind the Apparat’s black eyes, but all he said was, “Such a strong heart, Sankta. So very tender,” he said, clucking his tongue, “to care for the young. And wise, always so wise. ”

He was annoyed under the bluster. The Saint he wanted me to be was a loving mother, a comfort to her people. Tender and soft as a weak spring breeze. I was a sour disappointment to him. I took a good deal of satisfaction in the idea; the more he hated me, the more I felt certain I must be doing _something_ right.

“That’s Ruby, isn’t it?” I asked Mal brightly, eager to change the subject and divert the Apparat’s attention.

“She got here a few weeks back,” Mal said. “She’s good—came from the infantry.” Despite myself, I felt the tiniest twinge of envy. _Fool,_ I chided myself.

“Stigg doesn’t look happy,” I said, bobbing my head toward where the Inferni seemed to be taking out his loss on Ruby. The girl was doing her best to hold her own, but she was clearly outmatched.

“He doesn’t like getting beaten.”

“Did you even break a sweat?”

“No,” he said. “It’s a problem.”

“Why is that?” asked the Apparat.

Mal’s eyes darted to me for the briefest second. “You learn more by losing.” He shrugged. “At least Tolya’s around to keep kicking my ass.”

“Mind your tongue,” the Apparat snapped.

I snorted, regretting it instantly when a wave of dizziness hit. Mal ignored him. Abruptly, he put two fingers to his lips and gave a sharp whistle. “Ruby, you’re leaving yourself open!”

Too late. Her braid was on fire. Another young soldier ran at her with a bucket of water and tossed it over her head.

I winced. “We’ll leave them in your capable hands, I suppose.”

Mal bowed. “Moi soverenyi.” He jogged back to the troops.

That title. He said it without any of the rancor he had seemed to carry at Os Alta, but it still hit me like a punch to the gut.

“He should not address you so,” complained the Apparat.

“What? With formality and respect?”

“It was the Darkling’s title and is unfitting for a Saint.”

“The Darkling doesn’t own the words. What would you prefer he call me?”

“He should not address you directly at all.”

All humor dropped from my face. “Next time he has something to say, I’ll have him write me a letter and present it in a full public ceremony. Perhaps we can release doves.”

The Apparat pursed his lips. “You’re restless today. I think an extra hour in the solace of the archives will do you good.” His tone was chiding, as if I were a cranky child who had stayed up past her bedtime.

“I think you’re not my mother and you’re not in charge of my schedule,” I snapped. So much for _Distract, disarm, disable._ Botkin and Baghra would be halfway up my backside by now. I felt a pang at the memory of Baghra. I still hadn’t been able to find out if she’d made it safely from the Little Palace the night of the Darkling’s attack.

The Apparat cast a long look back to Mal. “So very dangerous, working in such close proximity to fire,” he observed. “I hope he does not suffer too many more burns.”

I dug my nails into my palms as hard as I could, which was still not all that hard.

As we turned down the passage that would take us to the archives, I looked over my shoulder. Zoya had flipped a soldier on his back and was spinning him like a turtle, her hand making lazy circles in the air.

Ruby was talking to Mal, her smile broad, her expression avid. But Mal was watching me. In the ghostly light of the cavern, his eyes were a deep and steady blue, the color at the center of a flame.

I blinked and turned away, hurrying my steps, trying to temper the wheeze of my lungs. I thought of Ruby’s smile, her singed braid. A nice girl. A normal girl. That was what Mal needed. It was what he deserved. If he hadn’t taken up with someone new already, eventually he would. Should. And some day I’d be a good enough person to not want to burn whoever it was alive. Just not today. Today, all I could do was push it down and remember that I wasn’t right for Mal. That I probably never had been. That I wanted him to be happy, and to have the life he had always deserved. A life without me around to mess it up.

 

* * * * *

 

We caught David on his way into the archives. As usual, he was a mess—hair going every direction, sleeves blotted with ink. He had a glass of hot tea in one hand and a piece of toast tucked into his pocket. It was likely all he would have for breakfast, and he would only eat lunch if someone reminded him to.

His eyes flickered from the Apparat to the Priestguards.

“More salve?” he asked.

The Apparat curled his lip slightly at this, but I saw him try to restrain the expression. Because I was here, because he knew I didn’t tolerate any disrespect toward Genya. The salve was David’s concoction for her. Along with her own efforts, it had helped to fade some of the worst of her scarring, but of course the wounds would never fully heal..

“Sankta Alina has come to spend her morning in study,” the Apparat declared with great solemnity.

I rolled my eyes silently. David gave a twitch that vaguely resembled a shrug as he ducked through the doorway. “But you’re going to the Kettle later?”

“I will have guards sent to escort you in two hours,” said the Apparat. “Genya Safin will be waiting for you.” His eyes scanned my haggard face. “See that she gives better attention to her work.”

I nearly bit a hole in the inside of my lip.

He bowed deeply and vanished down the tunnel. I looked around the room and blew out a long, dejected breath. The archives should have been the kind of place I loved, full of the smell of ink on paper, the soft crackle of quills. But this was the Priestguards’ den—a dimly lit maze of arches and columns carved from white rock.

The closest I’d ever come to seeing David lose his temper had been the first time he’d laid eyes on these little domed niches, some of them caved in, all of them lined with ancient books and manuscripts, their pages black with rot, their spines bloated with moisture. The caves were damp enough that puddles had seeped up through the floors. “You can’t. . . you can’t have kept Morozova’s journals in here,” he’d practically shrieked. “It’s a bog!”

Now David spent his days and most of his nights in the archives, poring over Morozova’s writings, jotting down theories and sketches in a notebook of his own. Like most other Grisha, he’d believed that Morozova’s journals had been destroyed after the creation of the Fold. But the Darkling would never have let knowledge like that go. He’d hidden the journals away, and though I’d never been able to get a straight answer from the Apparat, I suspected the priest had somehow discovered them in the Little Palace and then stolen them when the Darkling had been forced to flee Ravka.

I slumped down on a stool across from David. He had dragged a chair and a table into the driest of the caves, and stocked one of the shelves with extra oil for his lanterns and the herbs and unguents he used to make Genya’s salve. Usually, he hunched over some formula or bit of tinkering and didn’t look up for hours, but today he couldn’t seem to settle, fussing with his inks, fidgeting with the pocket watch he’d propped up on the table.

I thumbed listlessly through one of Morozova’s journals. I’d come to loathe the sight of them—useless, confusing, and most importantly, incomplete. He described his hypotheses regarding amplifiers, his tracking of the stag, his two-year journey aboard a whaler seeking the sea whip, his theories on the firebird, and then. . . nothing. Either there were journals missing or Morozova had, for whatever reason, left his work unfinished.

The prospect of finding and using the firebird was daunting enough, and I took the existence of the stag and the sea whip as tacit proof of the firebird, but the idea of its existence required by far the most faith of the three. I hadn’t even been able to entertain a thought of the possibility of facing the Darkling again without it. It was too terrifying to contemplate, so I simply shoved it away.

I made myself turn the pages. The only means I had of keeping track of time was David’s watch. I didn’t know where he’d found it, how he’d gotten it working, or if the time he’d set it to had any correlation to time on the surface, but I glared at its face while the minute hand seemed to be slowing down before my eyes.

The Priestguards came and went, always watching or bent to their texts. They were meant to be illuminating manuscripts, studying holy word, but I doubted that was the bulk of their work. The Apparat’s network of spies reached throughout Ravka, and these men considered it their calling to maintain it, deciphering messages, gathering intelligence, building the cult of a new Saint. It was hard not to compare them to my Soldat Sol, most of them young and illiterate, locked out of the information and the old mysteries these men guarded. It was no wonder none of _them_ had been sent against the nichevo’ya to get me out of the Little Palace.

When I couldn’t bear any more of Morozova’s ramblings, I twisted in my seat, trying to release a crick from my back. Then I pulled down an old collection of what were mostly debates on prayer, but that turned out to also contain a version of Sankt Ilya’s martyrdom.

In this one, Ilya was a mason, and the neighbor boy was crushed beneath a horse—that was new. Usually, the boy was cut down by a plow blade. But the story ended as all the tellings did: Ilya brought the child back from the brink of death, and for his trouble, the villagers threw him into the river, bound by iron chains. Some tales claimed he never sank but floated out to sea. Others vowed his body had emerged days later on a sandbank miles away, perfectly preserved and smelling of roses. I knew them all, and none of them said a word about the firebird or amplifiers or indicated that Dva Stolba was the right place to start looking for it.

All our hope for finding the firebird still resided in the old illustration in _Istorii Sankt’ya:_ Ilya in Chains, surrounded by the stag, the sea whip, and the firebird. Mountains could be glimpsed behind him, along with a road and an arch, the arch all our hopes currently counted on being two dilapidated pillars at Dva Stolba.

At least, that was what I normally believed. Today, I felt less sure that Ilya Morozova and Sankt Ilya were the same man. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the copies of the _Istorii Sankt’ya_ anymore. They lay in a moldy stack in a forgotten corner, seeming less like portents of some grand destiny than children’s books that had fallen out of fashion and politic.

David picked up his watch, put it down, reached for it again, knocked over a bottle of ink then righted it with fumbling fingers.

“What’s with you today?” I muttered quietly.

“Nothing,” he said sharply.

“Ah, of course. Silly me, what could could have led me to think something was going on?” I glanced up and blinked at him. “. . . David, your lip is bleeding.”

He wiped his palm across it, and the blood beaded up again. He must have bitten it. Hard.

“David—”

He rapped his knuckles against his desk once sharply, and I nearly jumped. There were two guards behind me. Punctual and creepy as always.

“Here,” David said, handing me a small tin. Before I could take it, a guard had snatched it up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I snapped angrily. But I knew. Nothing passed between me and the other Grisha without being thoroughly inspected. For my safety, of course.

The Priestguard ignored me and not for the first time, I _ached_ for my power, just to be able to do something other than stand around impotently and manage the occasional temper tantrum. He ran his fingers over the top and bottom of the tin, opened it, smelled the contents, investigated the lid, then closed it and handed it back without a word. I plucked it from his hand.

“Thank you,” I said sourly. “However would I avoid my best and most trusted friends secretly poisoning me without your dedicated protection?” I turned back to David and, much more sincerely, thanked him.

He had already bent back over his notebook, seemingly lost in whatever he was reading. But he gripped his pen so hard I thought it might snap. I was careful to keep any expression off my face as I left.

 

* * * * *

 

Genya was waiting for me in the Kettle, the vast, almost perfectly round cavern that provided food for all those in the White Cathedral. Its curved walls were studded with stone hearths, reminders of Ravka’s ancient past that the kitchen staff liked to complain weren’t nearly as convenient as the cookstoves and tile ovens above. The giant spits had been made for large game, but the cooks rarely had access to fresh meat. So instead they served salt pork, root vegetable stews, and a strange bread made from coarse gray flour that tasted vaguely of cherries.

The cooks had nearly gotten used to Genya, or at least they didn’t cringe and start praying when they saw her anymore. I found her keeping warm at a hearth on the Kettle’s far wall. This had become our spot, and the cooks left a small pot of porridge or soup there for us every day. As I approached with my armed escort, Genya let her shawl drop away, and the guards flanking me stopped short. She rolled her remaining eye and gave a catlike hiss. They dropped back, hovering by the entrance.

“Too much?” she asked.

“Just enough,” I replied, my lips turned down to try and hide my grin.

I marveled at the changes in her. If she could laugh at the way those oafs reacted to her, it was a very good sign. Though the salve David had created for her scars had helped, I was pretty sure most of the credit belonged to Tamar.

For weeks after we’d arrived at the White Cathedral, Genya had refused to leave her chambers. She simply lay there, in the dark, unwilling to move. Under the supervision of the guards, I’d talked to her, cajoled her, tried to make her laugh. Nothing had worked. In the end, it had been Tamar who lured her out into the open, demanding that she at least learn to defend herself.

“Why do you even care?” Genya had muttered to her, pulling the blankets up.

“I don’t. But if you can’t fight, you’re a liability.”

“I don’t care if I get hurt.”

“What about the rest of us?” I’d asked, catching on to her line of thinking.

“Alina needs to watch her own back,” Tamar said. “She can’t be looking after you.”

“I never asked her to.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we only got what we asked for?” Tamar said. Then she’d pinched and prodded and generally harassed, until finally Genya had thrown off her covers and agreed to a single combat lesson—in private, away from the others, with only the Priestguards as audience.

“I’m going to flatten her,” she’d grumbled to me. My skepticism must have been evident, because she’d blown a red curl off her scarred forehead and said, “Fine, then I’ll wait for her to fall asleep and give her a pig nose.”

But she’d gone to that lesson, and then to the next one, and as far as I knew, Tamar hadn’t woken up with a pig nose or with her eyelids sealed shut.

Genya continued to keep her face covered and spent most of her time in her chamber, but she no longer hunched, and she didn’t shy away from people in the tunnels. She’d made herself a black silk eye patch from the lining of an old coat, and her hair was looking distinctly redder. If Genya was using her power to alter her hair color, then maybe some of her well-honed pride had returned, and that could only mean more progress.

“Let’s get started,” she said.

Genya turned her back to the room, facing the fire, then drew her shawl over her head, keeping the fringed sides spread wide to create a screen that would hide us from prying eyes. The first time we’d tried this, the guards had been on us in seconds. But as soon as they’d seen me applying the salve to Genya’s scars, they’d given us distance. They considered the wounds she bore from the Darkling’s nichevo’ya some kind of divine judgment. For what, I wasn’t sure. If Genya’s crime was siding with the Darkling, then most of us had been guilty of it at one time or another. If it was for betraying any oaths to him. . . well, she’d only done it the once. The Apparat’s count was at at least two that I knew of.

When I’d shown them the bite on my own shoulder in retaliation, a cold glare on my face, they’d recoiled in horror. The whispers still persisted among the Priestguard sometimes. Saints take them for what they’d say if they knew I could make shadows curl.

I took the tin from my pocket and began gently applying salve to her wounds. It had a sharp green scent that made my eyes water.

“I never realized what a pain it is to sit still this long,” she complained.

“Good thing you’re not sitting still then. You’re wriggling around like a worm on a hook.”

“Lovely image, thank you. It itches.”

“I could find something sharp to jab you with, if you like,” I said absently, focused on my work. “It would distract you from the itching. For a minute, anyway.”

“Just tell me when you’re done, you dreadful woman.” She was watching my hands closely. “No luck today?” she said as low as she could without whispering.

I felt a painful jab of my own, dead center in my chest. “Not so far. There are only two hearths going, and the flames are low,” I said with a shrug that was far lighter than I felt. I wiped my hand on a grubby kitchen towel. “Done,” I said. “I wonder if I should try it on mine.”

“It couldn’t hurt. It’s your turn, anyway,” she said. “You look—”

“Terrible? Ghastly? Like death warmed over? I know. They keep putting mirrors in my room no matter how many times I break them. Frankly, I just want to know where they’ve been keeping them all at this point. There must be a whole room of them somewhere.”

“Relative terms.” The sadness in her voice was unmistakable. I could have hit myself.

I touched a hand to her cheek. The skin between the scars was smooth and white as the alabaster walls. “I’m an ass.”

The corner of her lip pulled crookedly. Almost a smile. “On occasion,” she said. “But at least you’re consistent. I’m the one who brought it up, anyway. Now be quiet and let me work.”

She sighed theatrically. “This is a violation of my most core beliefs, and you will make it up to me later.”

It was a given that she do just enough work that the priest let us keep meeting here, but not so much that he got a pretty little Saint to show off.

“How?” I asked warily.

She cocked her head to one side. “I think you should let me make you a redhead.”

I nearly choked. “Not in this lifetime! Try me again in the next. Maybe I’ll be more accommodating.”

As she began the slow work of altering my face, I fiddled with the tin in my fingers. I tried to fit the lid back on, but some part of it had come loose from beneath the salve. I lifted it with the tips of my fingernails—a thin, waxy disc of paper. Genya saw it at the same time I did.

Written on the back, in David’s nearly illegible scrawl, was a single word: _today._

Genya snatched it from my fingers. “Oh, Saints. Alina—”

That was when we heard the stomp of heavy-booted feet and a scuffle outside. A pot hit the ground with a loud clang, and a shriek went up from one of the cooks as the room flooded with Priestguards, rifles drawn, eyes seeming to blaze holy fire.

The Apparat swept in behind them in a swirl of brown robes. “Clear the room,” he bellowed.

Genya and I shot to our feet, me grabbing her arm as if I needed the support, as the Priestguards roughly herded the cooks from the kitchen in a confusion of protests and frightened exclamations.

“What is this?” I demanded.

“Alina Starkov,” said the Apparat, “you are in danger.”

I rolled my eyes. “From what this time? Soup that’s too hot? Stone that’s too hard? Caves that are too cave-like?”

“Conspiracy,” he proclaimed, pointing at Genya. “Those who would claim your friendship seek to destroy you.”

So he was finally making his move. I went cold as more of the Apparat’s bearded henchmen marched through the door behind him. When they parted ranks, I saw David, his eyes wide and frightened, and my annoyance turned to fury.

Genya gasped and I laid a hand on her arm to keep her from charging forward, my eyes glued on the Apparat.

Nadia and Zoya were next. My eyes narrowed when I saw the condition they were in: both had their wrists bound to prevent them from summoning, and a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of Nadia’s mouth. Her skin was white beneath her freckles. Mal was with them, his face badly bloodied. He was clutching his side as if cradling a broken rib, his shoulders hunched against the pain. But worse was the sight of the guards who flanked him—Tolya and Tamar. Tamar had her axes back. In fact, they were both armed as thoroughly as the Priestguards. They would not meet my eyes.

“You go too far, Priest,” I said, my voice low, deadly ice.

“Lock the doors,” the Apparat commanded as if I hadn’t spoken. “We will have this sad business done in private.”


	3. Plots Within Plots

The kettle’s massive doors slammed shut, and I heard the lock turn. I tried to put aside the twist of rage in my gut and make sense of what I was seeing. Nadia and Zoya—two Squallers—Mal, David, a harmless Durast. _Today,_ the note had said. What had it meant?

“I’ll ask you again, priest,” I said, my papery voice low and hard. “What is this? Why are my people in custody? Why are they _bleeding?”_

“These are not your people, and they are certainly no friends of yours. A plot has been discovered to bring the White Cathedral down around our very ears.”

“Explain.”

“You saw the boy’s insolence today—”

“Malyen is no _boy,”_ I seethed. “And training _my_ soldiers is hardly cause for a beating, or for rounding up the rest of my friends.” I said the last word pointedly. “How exactly are a group of mostly young, largely untrained men supposed to bring down an ancient cavern bigger than the Tsar’s palace? Or is it simply that he doesn’t tremble enough in your holy presence?” My voice was pure, boiling acid.

“The issue here is treason!” He yelled. He drew a small canvas pouch from his robes and held it out, letting it dangle from his fingers. I frowned. I’d seen pouches like that in the Fabrikator workshops. They were used for—

“Blasting powders,” the Apparat said, his tone damning. “Made by this Fabrikator filth with materials gathered by your supposed friends.” Why would David have made it, and not Ruslan?

“Yes. How dare he make something so versatile and useful as blasting powder,” I said flatly.

“Weapons are forbidden within the White Cathedral.”

“Weapons on people _who you don’t personally approve of_ are forbidden. Let’s not confuse the distinction.” I tilted my chin at the rifles currently pointed at Mal and my Grisha. “Those for instance. Unless you’re suggesting that in my feeble state, I’m mistaking ladles for loaded guns. Or there are the blades wielded by the only people in this Saintsforsaken place who actually _have_ betrayed me. Perhaps those are whisks.”

“Their plans were overheard. Stand forward, Tamar Kir-Bataar. Speak the truth you’ve discovered.”

I snorted.

Tamar bowed deeply. “The Grisha and the tracker planned to drug you and take you to the surface.”

“They planned to do what I’ve wanted this entire time, then. Yes, how very unforgivable.”

“The blasting powders would have been used to ensure that no one followed,” she continued, “to bring down the caverns on the Apparat and your flock.”

“You’re a traitor, Tamar,” I said with false lightness, “but you’re not stupid. Mal wouldn’t hurt thousands of innocent people. None of them would.” Not even Zoya, the hag. “This doesn’t even make any sense. How were they supposed to drug me?”

Tamar nodded to Genya and the tea that sat beside us.

“I drink that tea myself,” Genya snapped. “It isn’t laced with anything.”

“She is an accomplished poisoner and liar,” Tamar replied coldly. “She has betrayed you to the Darkling before.”

 _Rage,_ too long forced down, threatened to boil over. I felt the absence of my light like a hollow ache sapping what little energy I had. These past months had taught me just how much comfort I had gotten from its protective, telling presence when I was angry.

 _”Hypocrite,”_ I hissed.

Genya’s fingers clenched around her shawl. We all knew there was truth in the charge, and I had no trouble believing she’d do it. If she thought it was the right thing to do. All the same, Tamar was hardly in a position to be suggesting traitorous intentions.

“You trust her,” Tamar said. There was something strange in her voice. She sounded less like she was issuing an accusation than a command. My eyes narrowed fractionally.

“They were only waiting to stockpile enough blasting powder,” said the Apparat. “Then they intended to strike, to take you aboveground and give you up to the Darkling.”

I snorted. “Are you serious? Mal. _Mal_ was going to hand me over. To the Darkling. You’ve been down here too long. The mold has obviously gotten to your brain.”

“He was a dupe,” Tolya rumbled quietly. “He was so desperate to free you that he became their pawn.”

“Mal isn’t that stupid, thank you.”

I glanced at him. I couldn’t read his expression. The first real sliver of doubt entered me. I’d never trusted Zoya, and I didn’t know the others well, really. Genya had suffered so much at the Darkling’s hand, but their ties ran deep, and her idea of morality wasn’t necessarily a straight line. David would side with her. I didn’t think for a moment that Mal would give me up-- or would he? After the Little Palace, he had told me he’d been an idiot. He had sworn he would find a way to do right by me. But since the Apparat had cut us off, I had hardly seen him. Hadn’t that been why he had become so angry and cold in the first place? I wanted to believe in him, to have faith in him. . . but. Cold sweat broke out on my neck, and I felt a fluttering tug of panic.

“Plots within plots,” hissed the Apparat. “You have a soft heart, and it has betrayed you.”

“You don’t know me very well,” I said absently, trying to get something, anything out of Mal’s expression. “And none of this makes sense.”

“They are spies and deceivers!”

I pressed my fingers to my temples. “Where are my other Grisha?” I asked wearily.

“They have been contained until they can be properly questioned.”

“Contained,” I repeated.

“For everyone’s safety.”

I gave him a hard look. “And do you recall our conversation not three hours ago about how you would be held personally responsible for any harm that came to any of them? So far it looks like I owe you a fat lip and a broken rib.”

The threat was pathetically hollow. I couldn’t bruise a feather in my condition, and everyone knew it.

“See this concern for those who would wrong her?” he asked emphatically of the Priestguards. He was _enjoying_ this. Ever the manipulator. Ever the spider, weaving his web. _He’s been waiting for it,_ I realized. 

“This is what marks her kindness, her generosity.” His gaze locked on mine. “There are some injuries, but the traitors will have the best of care. You need only say the word.”

“No, I really don’t, because I already have.” My voice was laced with cold fury.

But the warning of his words was clear, and I understood. Whether the Grisha plot was real or some subterfuge invented by the priest, this was the moment he had been hoping for, the chance to make my isolation complete. No more visits to the Kettle with Genya, no more stolen conversation with David, no more news from Harshaw or Stigg. The priest would use this chance to separate me from anyone whose loyalties were tied more tightly to me than they were to him and his cause. And I was too weak to stop him.

Nadia hung her head. Zoya kept her chin lifted, her blue eyes bright with challenge. It was easy to believe that either or both of them might turn against me, might seek the Darkling out and offer me as a gift with some hope of clemency. And David had helped to place the collar around my neck. He had given in to the urge to do something he felt was wrong because he believed it served a greater good.

Could Mal have been tricked into helping them betray me? He didn’t look frightened or concerned—he looked the way he had at Keramzin when he was about to do something that would get us both in trouble. His face was bruised, but I noticed he was standing straighter than he had been a moment before. And then he glanced up, almost as if he were casting his eyes heavenward, as if he were praying. But Mal had never been the religious sort. He was looking at the master flue.

The only place where the sun entered our underground prison.

 _Plots within plots._ David’s nervousness. His note. Tamar’s words. _You trust her._

“Release them,” I said simply.

The Apparat shook his head, his expression full of sorrow. “Our Saint is being weakened by those who claim to love her. See how frail she is, how sickly--”

 _“Release them,”_ I ordered, and for a moment, I felt a flutter of my old strength, lit like a sputtering fire in a wet, long-abandoned hearth.

“Sankta. Beloved Sankta. This is the corruption of their influence.” A few of the Priestguards nodded, and I saw that fanatical light in their eyes. He turned to them. “She is a Saint, but also a pure-hearted woman governed by emotion.” I nearly snarled at the man. “She does not understand the forces at work here.”

“Just because _you _have managed to lock me away, usurp my authority, and claim the loyalty of every person who believes they are following _me, _all by intentionally keeping me too weak to do anything about any of it,” I was nearly yelling now, “do not mistake me for a gullible fool! You forget yourself, and if ever you truly walked a path of faith, you have long ago abandoned it to manipulation and a selfish lust for power. _Who is the Saint in this room,_ priest?”____

____The Apparat gave me that pitying, indulgent smile. “You are ill, Sankta Alina. Not in your right mind. You do not know friend from foe.”_ _ _ _

____“That is the only thing I know,” I lied. The only thing I really knew, beyond any doubt, was that I couldn’t trust _him._ He would happily orchestrate my martyrdom if it served his purpose._ _ _ _

____“You will release them,” I enunciated. “I will not warn you again.”_ _ _ _

____A smirk flickered over his lips. Behind the false pity, there was arrogance. He was perfectly aware of how weak I was, and I was overplaying my hand. I could only hope that the others knew what they were doing._ _ _ _

____“You will be escorted to your chambers so that you may spend the day in solitude,” he said. “You will think on what has happened, and good sense will return. Tonight we will pray together. For guidance.”_ _ _ _

____Why did I suspect that “guidance” meant the location of the firebird and possibly any information I had on Nikolai Lantsov?_ _ _ _

____“And when I refuse?” I asked, scanning the Priestguards. I edged toward a station where one of the cooks had left a knife out in her haste to depart. “Will your soldiers take up arms against their Saint? Force her bodily to a cell against her will?”_ _ _ _

____“You will remain untouched and protected, Sankta Alina,” said the Apparat. “I cannot extend the same courtesy to those you would call friends.”_ _ _ _

____I looked into the guards’ faces, their fervent eyes. They would murder Genya and Mal, kill David, lock me in my chambers, and feel righteous about all of it._ _ _ _

____“And here only a moment ago you were promising the opposite. You are as steady and true to your word as always.” I took a small step away from them and closer to a blade. I knew the Apparat would read it as a sign of weakness and fear. “Do you know why I come here so often, priest?” I asked lightly._ _ _ _

____He gave a dismissive wave, his impatience showing through. “It reminds you of home.”_ _ _ _

____My eyes met Mal’s briefly. “Come now. As clever as you are? You should know,” I said, “an orphan has no home.”_ _ _ _

____I dove for the cleaver and twitched my fingers in my sleeves. It was an unwise choice - my wrist strained just to hold the heavy thing. Shadows surged up the Kettle walls. It wasn’t much of a distraction, but it was enough. The Priestguards startled, rifles swinging wildly, as their eyes went wide and their Grisha captives recoiled in shock. Mal didn’t hesitate._ _ _ _

____“Now!” he shouted. He shot forward, snatching the blasting powder from the Apparat’s hand._ _ _ _

____Tolya threw out his fists. I watched in shock as Two of the Priestguards crumpled, clutching their chests. Nadia and Zoya held up their hands, and Tamar’s arms came down in an arc, her axes slicing through their bonds. Both Squallers raised their arms, and wind rushed through the room, lifting the sawdust on the floor._ _ _ _

____“Seize them!” cried the Apparat. The guards sprang into action._ _ _ _

____Mal hurled the pouch of powder into the air. Nadia and Zoya lobbed it higher, up into the master flue._ _ _ _

____Mal slammed into one of the guards. The broken ribs must have been an act, because there was nothing tentative in his movements now. A fist, a thrown elbow, and the Priestguard went down. Mal grabbed his pistol and aimed high, up into the flue, into darkness._ _ _ _

_____This_ was the plan? No one could make that shot!_ _ _ _

____Another guard threw himself at Mal. He pivoted from the smaller man’s grasp and fired._ _ _ _

____For a moment, there was a hush, suspended silence, and then high above us, I heard it: a dampened boom._ _ _ _

____A roaring sound rushed toward us. A cloud of soot and rubble billowed from the flue above._ _ _ _

____“Nadia!” cried Zoya, who was grappling with a guard._ _ _ _

____Nadia arced her arms and the cloud hovered, twisted, siphoned into a whirling column. It spun away and collapsed to the floor in a harmless clatter of pebbles and dirt._ _ _ _

____I took all of this in dimly—the fighting, the Apparat’s shouts of rage, the grease fire that had broken out against the far wall._ _ _ _

____Genya and I had come to the kitchens for one reason alone: the hearths. Not for the heat or for any sense of comfort, but because each of those ancient hearths led to the master flue. And that flue was the only place in the White Cathedral with direct access to the surface. Direct access to the sun._ _ _ _

____“Strike them down!” the Apparat shouted at his Priestguards. “They’re trying to kill our Saint! They’re trying to kill us all!”_ _ _ _

____I’d come here every day, hoping the cooks might use more than a few fires so that the flue would open all the way. I’d tried to summon, hidden from the Priestguards by Genya’s thick shawl and their superstitious fear of her. I’d tried and failed. Now Mal had blown the flue wide open._ _ _ _

____I felt it, miles above me—so tentative, barely a whisper. Panic gripped me to feel it yet have it so far out of reach. But at the same time, so did fierce, driven need. Hunger, longing. Determination._ _ _ _

____Something within me rose and stretched, like a creature that had lain idle for too long. Its muscles had gone soft from disuse, but it was still there, waiting._ _ _ _

____I called and the light answered with the strength of the antlers at my throat and the scales at my wrist. It came to me in a rush, triumphant and eager, and for a moment, I was _whole.__ _ _ _

____I grinned at the Apparat, letting exultation fill me. It was not a friendly expression. “A man so obsessed with holy fire should pay more attention to the smoke, old man.”_ _ _ _

____The light slammed through me and _exploded_ into the room in a blinding emanance that illuminated the almost comical expression of shock on the Apparat’s face. The Priestguards threw up their hands, eyes squeezed shut against the glare._ _ _ _

____Relief came with the light, a sense of being right and whole for the first time in months. Part of me had truly feared I might never be restored, that by using merzost in my fight with the Darkling, by daring to create shadow soldiers and trespass in the making at the heart of the world without his knowledge or experience, by tying myself so irreversibly and inextricably to him, I had somehow forfeited this gift. This vital part of myself. But now it was as if I could feel my body coming to life, my cells reviving. Power rippled through my blood, reverberated in my bones. This, _this_ was my power, and it sang through me like it had the night I had first put on the fetter._ _ _ _

____The Apparat recovered quickly. “Save her!” he bellowed. “Save her from the traitors!”_ _ _ _

____“Idiot,” I snapped, and banked the light into a searing heat between us. I looked at the Priestguard as they staggered back. “Do I look like I’m in danger to any of you? What did you just see? You all know how weak I’ve been. You’ve seen it every day. My _friends,_ my _allies,_ just risked their lives to restore me in the face of the man who has been purposefully keeping me sick and helpless! And _every one of you have been helping him do it!”_ I boomed, my voice already stronger than it had been in months._ _ _ _

____Some of the guards looked confused, some frightened, some horrified, but two jumped forward to do his bidding, sabers raised to attack Nadia and Zoya._ _ _ _

____I honed my power to a gleaming scythe, felt the raw strength of the Cut in my hands._ _ _ _

____Then Mal lunged in front of me. I barely had time to draw back. The jolt of unused power recoiled through me, making my heart stutter._ _ _ _

____Mal had gotten hold of a sword, and I watched in confusion as his blade flashed as he cut through one guard, then the other. They toppled like trees._ _ _ _

____Two more advanced, but Tolya and Tamar were there to stop them. David ran to Genya’s side. Nadia and Zoya flipped another guard in the air. I saw Priestguards on the periphery raising their rifles to open fire._ _ _ _

____Rage coursed through me. _No more,_ I told myself. I hurled the Cut in a fiery arc. It crashed through a long table and tore into the earth before the Priestguards, opening a dark, yawning trench in the kitchen floor. There was no way of knowing how deep it went._ _ _ _

____Terror was written on the Apparat’s face—terror and what might well have been awe. The guards fell to their knees, and a moment later, the priest followed. Some wept, chanting prayers. Beyond the kitchen doors, I heard fists pounding, voices wailing, “Sankta! Sankta!”_ _ _ _

____I was glad they were crying out for me and not the Apparat, at least. I dropped my hands, clenching them into fists and letting the light recede. I kept up a warm, wide halo of it around me; I had been cut off from this vital piece of myself for months. I had no intention of letting it go now. And I wanted my strength back. Still, I was quickly realizing that I had to be careful; I had never been so cut off before, and my weakened body was having trouble keeping up. I wasn’t sure of my limits, and I wouldn’t watch it stutter out of my control in front of these men._ _ _ _

____Two of them lay dead and bleeding, and a crowd was waiting outside the Kettle doors. I could hear Nikolai’s voice in my head: _The people like spectacle.__ _ _ _

____The show wasn’t over yet._ _ _ _

____Careful of my control, I flexed my power until I was confident enough to cauterize the worst of the wounds in blinding tendons of light. They cried out in pain and shock, but it was over immediately, fast and hot as a brand. I looked at the bodies of the fallen guards. One of them had sawdust in his beard. I had almost been the person to end his life. _That’s why Mal stepped in front of me,_ I realized._ _ _ _

____With a breath like a sigh, I immolated their bodies in an instant, turning them to ash, which blew in whorls from the slight breeze coming down through the flue._ _ _ _

____I walked forward, stepping around the trench I’d opened, and stood before the kneeling guards._ _ _ _

____The one closest to me was younger than the others— his beard just coming in; his gaze fastened on the ground through tightly closed lids as he muttered fervent prayers. I caught not just my name, but the names of other Saints, strung together as if in a single word. I put my finger under his chin. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and tears rolled down his cheeks._ _ _ _

____“Forgive me,” he said. “Forgive me.”_ _ _ _

____“For?” I prompted, quiet and gentle._ _ _ _

____“I-- I didn’t know, Sankta. We didn’t know. We thought-- please. Please forgive me.”_ _ _ _

____“Look at me,” I said softly._ _ _ _

____He forced himself to look up. I cupped his face in my hand, gentle, like a mother. “What is your name?”_ _ _ _

____“Vladim … Vladim Ozwal.”_ _ _ _

____“It’s good to doubt Saints, Vladim Ozwal. And priests, and men.”_ _ _ _

____He gave a shaky nod as another tear spilled over._ _ _ _

____“My soldiers bear my mark,” I said, referring to the hated tattoos borne by the Soldat Sol. “Until this day you have put yourself apart from them, buried yourself in books and prayer and the poison of the man you have followed instead of hearing the people. Will you wear my mark now? Knowing what it means?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes,” he said, fervently._ _ _ _

____“Will you swear loyalty to me and only me?”_ _ _ _

____“Gladly, Sol Koroleva!”_ _ _ _

____My stomach turned. Part of me hated what I was about to do. Couldn’t I just make him sign something? Give a blood oath? Make a really, really strong promise? But I had to be stronger than that, and in all honesty, part of me was eager for it. Hungry for it. And I was not nearly so afraid of that part of myself as I used to be._ _ _ _

____This boy and his comrades had taken up arms against me. They had trapped me and ignored my wishes for months. I wouldn’t let that happen again, and this was the language of Saints and suffering, the language they expected and understood._ _ _ _

____“Open your shirt,” I said. Not a loving mother now, but a different kind of Saint, a warrior wielding holy fire._ _ _ _

____His fingers shook, but he didn’t hesitate. He pulled the fabric apart, baring the skin of his chest. I was tired, still weak. I had to concentrate. I wanted to make a point. Killing him would be counterproductive. And horrifying._ _ _ _

____I flexed my fingers and felt the light in my palm. I pressed my hand to the smooth skin over his heart and let the power pulse into a blinding white. Vladim flinched when it connected, searing his flesh, but he did not cry out. His eyes were wide and unblinking, his expression rapt. When I pulled my hand back, my palm print remained, the brand throbbing red and angry on his chest, closed over by the head that had created it._ _ _ _

_____Not bad,_ I thought grimly, _for your first time mutilating someone.__ _ _ _

____I let the power go, grateful to be finished._ _ _ _

____“It is done, Vladim,” I said in that same, Saintly voice._ _ _ _

____He looked down at his chest, and his face broke into a beatific grin. _He has dimples,_ I realized with a lurch. _Dimples and a scar he’ll bear for the rest of his life.__ _ _ _

____“Thank you, Sol Koroleva,” he breathed, fervent._ _ _ _

_____A scar he’s ecstatic to have._ _ _ _ _

____“Rise,” I commanded._ _ _ _

____He stood, beaming down at me through flowing tears._ _ _ _

____The Apparat moved as if to stand. “You will stay where you are,” I snapped, my rage returning, the light swelling angrily around me. Even that much was exhausting now, but I would gladly trade another week of cursed bed rest for it._ _ _ _

____The Apparat was the reason my friends and I had been safe and fed and clothed, that was true. But he was also the reason I had withered in illness for months, powerless to look for the firebird, powerless while people on the surface died in my place. He was the reason I’d just had to brand a young man. He was the reason two men lay dead, what was left of their ashes lying among discarded onion skins and carrot shavings. He was a traitor, a liar, and dangerous snake._ _ _ _

____I looked down at him. I could feel the temptation to take his life, to be rid of him forever. It would be satisfying, and so easy. For the months underground, for the fear and intimidation, for the harassment, for every day sacrificed below the surface when I could have been seeking my future. It would also be deeply stupid. I’d awed a few soldiers, but for the others, for the thousands who lived in the network of caves, the Apparat was the only authority they knew. I couldn’t afford the time to stay down here and ensure order. If I murdered him, who knew what chaos I might unleash? _You want to, though,_ said a voice in my head. _ _ _ _

____He must have read the intent in my eyes._ _ _ _

____“Sankta Alina, I only wanted for you to be safe, for you to be whole and well again,” he said shakily._ _ _ _

____I took a very careful breath and swallowed what I really wanted to say. “Then consider your prayers answered.” My voice was glacial with barely-controlled fury. It was a lie if I’d ever told one. The last words I would have chosen to describe myself were whole or well. “You will offer sanctuary to _all_ those who seek it, priest, not just the hale and strong, and not only to those who worship me.” My gut twisted in disgust at the words, but this was their language._ _ _ _

____He shook his head. “The security of the White Cathedral—”_ _ _ _

____“Will remain in tact if you house them elsewhere. Somewhere just as safe and protected. You’re a clever man, I trust you can figure it out.”_ _ _ _

____He took a breath. “Of course.”_ _ _ _

____“There will be no more child soldiers.”_ _ _ _

____“If the faithful wish to fight—”_ _ _ _

____“You are on your knees,” I enunciated angrily. “We are not negotiating. Blood and death are not the only services my people need, are they?” It wasn’t a question. “There are many, many ways to care for everyone who needs help.”_ _ _ _

____His lips thinned, but after a moment, he dipped his chin in assent._ _ _ _

____“You will preach tolerance and understanding of the Grisha. Not inferiority, not superiority, but sameness. Never forget, _I_ am Grisha.”_ _ _ _

____Again he nodded, stiffly this time._ _ _ _

____“You will ensure that everyone under my command - everyone - recognizes that Genya Safin’s scars are not marks of shame or curse, but of courage and blessing. She endured them at the hands of a great evil, bore them with courage so that she could fight to save me and protect all those who now curse her name. You will correct these misunderstandings._ _ _ _

____“For those few who know of her past, you will make it clear that she submitted to years of torture, in secret, to stop a tyrannical, incompetent king who was bleeding his country dry,” I said, my voice low with warning. “You will start by correcting these misconceptions within yourself.”_ _ _ _

____He paused once more, then dipped his chin a final time._ _ _ _

____I let my gaze stay on him a moment, then straightened. He was subdued - for now - but his teeth were far from gone._ _ _ _

____I looked around. “You are all witness to these decrees,” I said loudly, “and I expect them to be honored and enforced in my absence.” Then I turned to one of the guards. “Give me your gun.”_ _ _ _

____He handed it over without a second’s pause. Good. With satisfaction, I saw the Apparat’s eyes widen in dismay, but I simply passed the weapon to Genya, then demanded a saber for David, though I knew he wouldn’t be much good with it. Zoya and Nadia stood ready to summon, and Mal and the twins were already armed._ _ _ _

____“Up,” I said to the Apparat. “You and I both know what has really happened between us these last months, and you will waste no more words protesting the truth._ _ _ _

____“Now,” I said, my tone final. “It is over. Let us have peace. This day, I am restored.”_ _ _ _

____He rose. Stiffening, I embraced him and I whispered in his ear. “You will lend your blessing to our mission, your support to _my_ words, you will never speak for me again, and you will follow to the letter the orders I have given you. If you see fit to do otherwise, I will carve you into pieces with the light you so worship and throw them into the Fold for the volcra. Am I understood?”_ _ _ _

____He swallowed thickly and nodded._ _ _ _

____I wanted a moment to think, to brace myself, but I didn’t have it. We had to open those doors, to offer an explanation for the fallen guards and the explosions._ _ _ _

____“The fallen,” I said to one of the Priestguards. “Do they. . . did they have family?”_ _ _ _

____“We are their family,” said Vladim._ _ _ _

____I nodded and addressed the others. “Gather the faithful from all over the White Cathedral and bring them to the main cavern. I will speak to them in one hour’s time. Vladim, free the other Grisha and have them meet me in my quarters.”_ _ _ _

____He touched the brand at his chest in a kind of salute. “Sankta Alina.”_ _ _ _

____I stiffened my face against any reaction._ _ _ _

____I glanced at Mal’s bruised face. “Genya, clean him and Nadia up.”_ _ _ _

____“I’ve got it,” Tamar said, already dabbing the blood on Nadia’s lip with a towel she’d dunked into a cookpot full of hot water. “Sorry about that,” I heard her say._ _ _ _

____Nadia smiled. “Had to make it look good. Besides, I’ll get you back.”_ _ _ _

____“We’ll see,” Tamar replied._ _ _ _

____I looked over the other Grisha in their bedraggled kefta. We didn’t make for a very impressive parade. “Tolya, Tamar, Mal, you’ll walk with me and the Apparat.” I lowered my voice. “Try to look confident and. . . I don’t know, regal.”_ _ _ _

____“I have a question—” Zoya began._ _ _ _

____“Yes and so do I. About a hundred. Unfortunately we’re both going to have to wait, or the crowd out there is going to turn into a mob.” I looked at the Apparat. I felt the urge to humble him, to make him walk far behind me so everyone would know his real position. I wanted to do more and far worse for these long weeks of imprisonment and patronizing manipulation. Neither urge would be worth the cost, however. I still needed him. For now._ _ _ _

____I took a deep breath. “Everyone else, I want you interspersed with the Priestguards. This is a show of alliance. The way it should have been from the beginning.”_ _ _ _

____We arranged ourselves in front of the doors. The Apparat and I took the lead, though it made my skin crawl to even pretend to approve of the man. The Priestguards and Grisha were arrayed behind us, the remains of the fallen gathered into the finest containers that could be had in the Kettle and borne by their brothers._ _ _ _

____“Open the doors, Vladim,” I said calmly._ _ _ _

____As he moved to turn the locks, Mal took his place on my other side._ _ _ _

____“Out of curiosity,” I murmured under my breath, “how did you know I’d be able to summon?”_ _ _ _

____He glanced at me, and a faint grin touched his lips. “Faith.”_ _ _ _

____I snorted and rolled my eyes. But I didn’t miss the odd expression that crossed his face when I looked away._ _ _ _


	4. An Apt Pupil

The doors flew open. I threw out my hands and let light blast into the passageway. A cry went up from the people lining the tunnel. Those who weren’t already kneeling fell to their knees, and a chorus of prayer washed over me.

“Speak,” I ordered the Apparat in a low voice as I bathed the supplicants in glowing sunlight. “And make it good.”

“We have faced a great trial this day,” he declared hurriedly. “Our Saint has emerged from it stronger than before. Darkness came to this hallowed place—”

“I saw it!” cried one of the Priestguards. “Shadows climbed the walls—”

“About that. . . .” murmured Mal.

“Later.”

“But they were vanquished,” continued the Apparat, “as they will always be vanquished. By faith!”

I stepped forward, and again, I let light sweep through the passage in a blinding cascade. Then I drew it back and condense it into a massive, gleaming halo around my figure, almost too bright to look at. Most of these people had never seen my power and had no clue what it could actually do. Someone was weeping, and I heard my name, buried in the cries of “Sankta! Sankta!”

As I led the Apparat and the Priestguards through the White Cathedral, my mind was working, turning over options. Vladim went ahead of us, to see my orders done.

We finally had a chance to get free of this place. But what would it mean to leave the White Cathedral behind? I’d be abandoning an army and leaving them and everyone else in the Apparat’s care. And yet, there weren’t many options open to us. I had to get aboveground. I had to get the firebird.

Mal dispatched Tamar to rally the rest of the Soldat Sol and search out more working firearms. My control of the Priestguards as a whole was tenuous at best. In case of trouble, we wanted guns at the ready, and I hoped I could rely on the sun soldiers to stay loyal to me.

I escorted the Apparat to his quarters myself, Mal and Tolya trailing us.

At his door, I said, “In one hour, we will lead services together. Tonight, I’ll leave with my Grisha and you will sanction and bless our departure.”

“Sol Koroleva,” the Apparat whispered, “I urge you not to return to the surface so soon. The Darkling’s position is not a strong one. The Lantsov boy has few allies—”

 _“I_ am his ally.”

“He abandoned you at the Little Palace.”

“He left, strategically, as planned long in advance. I refused to go with him that night. And he survived, priest. That’s something you should understand.” I could only hope that the rumors of him wreaking havoc on the northern border were true.

“Let them weaken each other, see which way the wind blows—”

“I owe Nikolai Lantsov more than that, and even if I didn’t, I would want him on the throne. He is a good man, and capable, and unlike you or the King, he puts the people first.”

“Is it loyalty that drives you? Or greed?” pressed the Apparat. “The amplifiers have waited countless years to be brought together, and you cannot wait a few more months?”

My jaw clenched in annoyance and at the very thought. I wasn’t sure what was driving me, if it was my need for vengeance or something higher, if it was hunger for the firebird or friendship with Nikolai. “I'm surprised you think <i>Saints</i> so susceptible. Does it much matter, in the end?” I asked. “This is my war. It began because of me. I will see it finished.”

“I beg you to heed my words. I have done nothing but serve you faithfully.”

“As faithfully as you served the King. As faithfully as you served the Darkling. As faithfully as you served Saints know who else before them. If you wanted me to heed your words when the time came, you should have acted with a scrap of honor when you held me powerless under your thumb these last months. But you didn’t. Because you believed you could control me indefinitely.”

“No, Sankta. I am the voice of the people. They did not choose the Lantsov Kings or the Darkling. They chose you as their Saint, and they will love you as their Queen.”

Even the sound of those words made me weary.

“They chose me because you manipulated them into doing so.” I glanced over my shoulder to where Mal and Tolya waited a respectful distance away. “Do you truly believe it?” I asked the priest. The question had plagued me since I’d first heard word of him gathering this cult. “Do you believe that I’m a Saint? Or was it just another platform for your rise to power?”

“What I believe doesn’t matter,” he replied. “That’s what you’ve never understood. Do you know they’ve started building altars to you in Fjerda?” I felt my brows crawl up my forehead as he went on. “In Fjerda, where they burn Grisha at the stake. There is a fine line between fear and veneration, Alina Starkov. I can move that line. That is the prize I offer you.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I couldn’t deny that it would be useful to have such a skill. The problem was the knowledge that it came attached to the Apparat, and what he would demand in return.

“You will have it,” he went on eagerly when I stayed quiet. “Men fight for Ravka because the King commands it, because their pay keeps their families from starving, because they have no choice. They will fight for _you_ because to them you are salvation. They will starve for you, lay down their lives and their children’s lives for you. They will make war without fear and die rejoicing. There is no greater power than faith, and there will be no greater army than one driven by it.”

“Faith didn’t protect your soldiers from the nichevo’ya. No amount of fanaticism will.”

“You see only war, but I see the peace that will come.” I heard the Darkling’s voice in my mind, saying almost the same thing in the chapel. “Faith knows no border and no nationality. Love for you has taken root in Fjerda. The Shu will follow, then the Kerch. Our people will go forward and spread the word, not just through Ravka but through the world. This is the way to peace, Sankta Alina. Through you.”

“Have a care for the price.”

“War is the cost of change.”

“And it is ordinary people who pay it. Peasants like me. Never men like you.”

“We—”

I silenced him with a hand. I thought of the Darkling laying waste to an entire town, of Vasily suggesting that the draft age be lowered. The Apparat claimed to speak for the people, but he was no different than the rest who sat on chairs, too high above the people to care about the blood price of their orders.

“Keep my people safe, priest— this flock, this army. Keep them fed. Keep marks off of the children’s faces and rifles out of their hands, and follow the orders I left you. Act _honestly,_ if you are capable. Leave the rest to me.”

“Sankta Alina—”

“Shut. Up.” I held open the door to his chamber. “One hour. Be ready. We’ll pray together then,” I said. “But I think you could use a head start.”

 

* * * * *

 

Mal and I left the Apparat secured in his chambers and guarded by Tolya—with strict orders to make sure that the door stayed closed and that no one disturbed the priest’s prayers.

I suspected that the Apparat would soon have the Priestguards, maybe even Vladim, back under his control. But all we needed were a few hours’ start. He was lucky I didn’t cram him into a damp corner of the archives with his musty robes dangling in a puddle.

When we finally arrived at my chamber, I found the narrow white room packed with Grisha and Vladim waiting at the door. My sleeping quarters were among the largest in the White Cathedral, but it was still a challenge to accommodate a group of thirteen. No one looked too badly off, at least. Nadia’s lip was swollen, and Maxim was tending to a cut over Stigg’s eye. Ruslan had a dark, livid bruise on his cheekbone. It was the first time we’d been allowed to gather underground, and there was something comforting about seeing Grisha crowded together and sprawled over the meager furniture.

Mal didn’t seem to agree. “We might as well travel with a marching band,” he grumbled under his breath.

“What the hell is going on?” Sergei asked as soon as I’d dismissed Vladim. “One minute I’m in the infirmary with Maxim, the next I’m in a cell, and now I’m here.” He paced back and forth. There was a clammy sheen to his skin, and he had dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Calm down,” said Tamar. “You’re not behind bars now.”

“I might as well be. We’re all trapped down here. And that bastard is just looking for a chance to get rid of us.”

“If you want out of the caves, then this is your lucky day. At least I think it’s day. I’m not really sure,” I said. “In either case, we’re leaving. Tonight.”

“How?” Stigg asked.

By way of answer, I lifted one of my hands and let my fingers dance as sunlight flared, brief and ecstatic in my palm. That small gesture took more effort than it should, but though it was uncomfortable, I didn’t care. I would never let myself be parted from my power again.

The room erupted into whistles and cheers.

“Yes, yes,” said Zoya. “The Sun Summoner can summon. And all it took was a few deaths and a minor explosion.”

“You blew something up?” said Harshaw plaintively. “Without me?”

He was wedged up against the wall next to Ruslan, Stigg on his other side. They couldn’t have looked more different. Stigg was short and stocky with nearly-white blond hair. He had the solid, stubby appearance of a prayer candle. Ruslan was of medium height and like a graceful, living statue, or a dancer, with his calm and quiet and steady eyes that took in so much. Harshaw was tall and rangy, his hair redder than Genya’s, nearly the color of blood. A scrawny orange tabby had somehow made her way down to the bowels of the White Cathedral and taken a liking to him. She followed him everywhere, slinking between his legs or clinging to his shoulder.

“Where did those blasting powders come from?” I asked, perching next to Nadia and her brother on the edge of my bed.

“I made them when I was supposed to be making salve,” said David. “Just like the Apparat said.”

“Right under the noses of the Priestguards?”

“It’s not as if they know anything about the Small Science. Ruslan has been smuggling supplies and providing distractions for weeks. He was the only one who could get the Priestguards to do anything but stand there and order us around.” So that was why I had seen so little of him.

“Then how did you get caught?”

“We didn’t. Not exactly,” said Mal. He’d stationed himself by the doorway with Tamar, each of them keeping an eye on the passage beyond.

“David knew we were meeting in the Kettle,” said Genya, “and he guessed about the master flue.”

David frowned. “I don’t guess.”

I suppressed a small grin.

“But there was no way to get the powders out of the archives, not with the guards searching everything.”

Tamar grinned. “So we had the Apparat deliver it.”

I stared at them in disbelief. “You _meant_ to get. . . ? Oh, that’s brilliant,” I laughed.

“Turns out the easiest way to schedule a meeting is to get arrested,” said Zoya.

“Do you know how risky that was?”

“Blame Oretsev,” Zoya replied with a sniff. “It was his idea of a brilliant plan.”

“It did work,” Genya observed.

Mal lifted a shoulder. “Like Sergei said, the Apparat was waiting for an opportunity to take us out of action, anyway. I figured it would make the easiest bait.”

“We were just never sure when you’d be in the Kettle,” Nadia said. “When you left the archives today, David claimed he’d forgotten something in his quarters and came by the training rooms to give us the signal. We knew the Apparat would be more likely to trust Tolya and Tamar, so they roughed us up a little—”

“A lot,” put in Mal.

“Then they claimed to have discovered a devious plot involving a few wicked Grisha and one very gullible tracker.”

Mal grinned.

“I was afraid he’d insist on putting everyone in the cells,” said Tamar. “So we claimed you were in immediate danger and that we had to get to the Kettle right away.”

Nadia smiled. “And then we just hoped the whole kitchen wouldn’t fall in on us.”

David’s frown deepened. “It was a controlled blast. The odds that the cave’s structure would hold were well above average.”

“Ah. Above average,” said Genya. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“I just did.”

“What about those shadows on the wall?” asked Zoya. “Who pulled that off?”

I tensed, unsure of what to say.

“I did,” said Mal easily. “We rigged it as a distraction.”

Sergei paced back and forth, cracking his knuckles. “You should have told us about the plan. We deserved a warning.”

“You could have at least let me blow something up,” added Harshaw.

Zoya gave an elaborate shrug. “I’m so sorry our plan to escape this hellhole put you out, Harshaw. Never mind how closely we’ve been watched and that it was a miracle we weren’t found out. We definitely should have jeopardized the whole operation to spare your feelings. And you _would_ have brought the whole Kettle down.”

I cleared my throat. “In less than an hour, I’ll be leading services with the Apparat, where he will wax poetic about our heroic mission. We’ll leave immediately after that, and I need to know who’s going to be coming with us.”

“Any chance you’re going to tell us where the third amplifier is?” asked Zoya. Thus far, only the twins, Mal, and I knew where we hoped to find the firebird. _And Nikolai,_ I reminded myself. Nikolai knew too. I refused to consider the possibility that he was dead.

Mal shook his head. “The less people who know, the safer we’ll all be.”

I cast a glance between the two of them. I was sure they would have “reconnected” after everything that had happened, but either I had been wrong, or they were hiding it well. Wisely. I still wanted to light Zoya’s hair on fire.

“So you’re not even telling us where we’re going?” Sergei said sulkily.

“Not ultimately. But first up, we’re going to attempt to make contact with Nikolai Lantsov.”

“I think we should try Ryevost,” said Tamar.

“The river cities?” I asked. “Why?”

“Sturmhond had smuggling lines throughout Ravka. It’s possible Nikolai is using them to get arms into the country.” Tamar would know. “If the rumors are true and he’s based somewhere in the north, then there’s a good chance the drop point near Ryevost is active.”

“That’s a lot of maybe and not much more,” Harshaw observed.

Mal nodded. “True. But it’s our best lead, and we have to start somewhere.”

“And if it’s a dead end?” asked Sergei.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re terribly negative?” I asked. It was insensitive, I knew it was, and it wasn’t that I didn’t understand why he was this way. And it was good to have someone who would question our plans. But Sergei _only_ had questions. And arguments. And complaints.

“We split up,” said Mal, deflecting whatever Sergei would have said. “We find a safe house where you can lie low, and I take a team to find the firebird.”

“Any and all of you are welcome to remain here,” I said to the others. “I know the pilgrims aren’t friendly to Grisha, and after tonight, I’m not sure how sentiment will change. But I’ve ordered the Apparat to make it a priority. And if we’re captured aboveground. . . .”

“The Darkling doesn’t deal kindly with traitors,” finished Genya in a quiet, hard voice.

Everyone shifted uncomfortably, but I made myself meet her gaze. “No. He doesn’t.”

“He’s had his shot at me,” she said blithely. “I’m going.”

Zoya smoothed the cuff of her coat. “We’d move faster without you.”

“I’ll keep up,” Genya countered.

“See that you do,” said Mal. I gave him an angry look, which he ignored. “We’ll be entering an area crawling with militias, not to mention the Darkling’s oprichniki. You’re recognizable,” he said to Genya. “So is Tolya, for that matter.”

Tamar’s lips twitched. “Would you like to be the one to tell him he can’t come?”

Mal considered this. “Maybe we can disguise him as a really big tree.”

Adrik shot to his feet so fast he nearly bounced me from the bed. “See you in an hour,” he declared, as if daring anyone to argue. Nadia gave me a shrug as he hurried out of the room. Adrik wasn’t much younger than the rest of the former students, but maybe because he was Nadia’s little brother, he always seemed to be looking to prove himself.

“Well, I’m going,” said Zoya as if it was obvious. “The humidity down here is murder on my hair.”

Harshaw rose and pushed off from the wall. “I’d prefer to stay,” he said with a yawn. “But Oncat says we go.” He hefted the tabby onto his shoulder with one hand.

“Can’t argue with the magic cat,” Ruslan said drily, casting his own vote.

“Magic?” I asked.

Zoya made a disgusted sound. “Ignore him. Are you ever going to name that thing?” she asked Harshaw.

“She has a name.”

“Oncat is not a name. It’s just Kaelish for cat.”

“Suits her, doesn’t it?”

Zoya rolled her eyes and flounced out the door, followed by Harshaw and then Stigg, who gave a polite bow and said, “I’ll be ready.”

The others trickled out after them. I suspected David would have preferred to remain at the White Cathedral, cloistered with Morozova’s journals. But he was our only Durast, and assuming we found the firebird, we would need him to forge the second fetter. Nadia seemed happy to go with her brother, though it was Tamar she grinned at on the way out. I’d guessed that Maxim would choose to remain here at the infirmary, and I’d been right. Maybe I could get Vladim and the other Priestguards to set an example for the pilgrims and take advantage of Maxim’s skills as a Healer.

The only surprise was Sergei. Though the White Cathedral was miserable, damp, and dull, it was also relatively secure. As eager as Sergei had seemed to escape the Apparat’s grasp, I hadn’t been sure he’d want to take his chances with us aboveground. But he’d nodded tersely and simply stated, “I’ll be there.” Maybe we were all desperate for blue sky and a chance to feel free again, no matter the risk.

When they were gone, Mal sighed and said, “Well, it was worth a try.”

“We didn’t have to give them a choice,” I pointed out. “Not that I really want to leave anyone in the Apparat’s care.” I stopped. “All that talk of militias,” I said, realization dawning. “You were trying to scare them off.”

“Thirteen is too many. A group that big will slow us through the tunnels, and once we’re aboveground, they’ll put us at greater risk. As soon as we have a chance, we’ll need to split up. There’s no way I’m taking a dozen Grisha into the southern mountains.”

“Good plan,” I said. “Assuming we can find a safe place for them.”

“No easy task, but we’ll manage it.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll be back in a half hour to take you to the main cavern.”

“Mal,” I said, “why did you step between me and the Priestguards?”

He shrugged. “Those aren’t the first men I’ve killed. They won’t be the last.”

“That wasn’t why you did it. You kept me from using the Cut on them.”

He didn’t look at me when he said, “You’re going to be a queen someday, Alina. The less blood on your hands, the better.”

The word _queen_ came so easily to his lips. “I don’t want to be queen, Mal. I just want this to end.”

He was silent for a moment. “We’ll find the firebird. We can go from there.”

“The firebird won’t be enough,” I said. I rubbed a hand over my eyes. “I need an army. Which means we need to find Nikolai, and he may not even be in Ravka.”

“The reports coming out of the north—”

“Could be useless. You know how good the Darkling is at spreading lies. ‘The Prince of the Air’ might be a myth created to draw us out of hiding.” I paused, and my tone as I went on belied the weight in my stomach. “Nikolai might never have made away the Palace.” It hurt me to say it, but I forced myself to speak the words.

“Do you believe that?”

“. . .I don’t know.”

“If anyone could make that escape, it’s Nikolai.”

The too-clever fox. Even once he’d abandoned his disguise as Sturmhond, that’s who Nikolai had been to me, always thinking, always scheming. But he hadn’t predicted his brother’s betrayal.

“You haven’t asked about the shadows.”

“Should I?”

Maybe I wanted to see how he would react. Maybe I didn’t want this to grow into another secret the way the Darkling’s visits had. I curled my fingers, and shadows unspooled from the corners.

Mal’s eyes followed their progress. What did I expect to see in him? Fear? Anger?

“Can you do more with it?” he asked calmly.

“No. It’s just some kind of remnant from what I did in the chapel.”

“You mean saving all our lives?”

I let the shadows fall and gritted my teeth. I pinched the bridge of my nose with my fingers, trying to stave off a rush of dizziness, and let out a careful breath. “If that’s how you prefer to see it. What I meant, though, using merzost. This isn’t real power, it isn’t Grisha power. It’s just. . . an after-image. A carnival trick.”

“It’s something you took from him,” he said. I didn’t imagine the hard satisfaction in his voice. “I won’t say a word, but you shouldn’t hide it from the others.”

“Why?”

“It’s dangerous to keep secrets from the people who are supposed to be protecting you.”

I gave him a long look. Ultimately, I could worry about that later. “What if Nikolai’s men aren’t in Ryevost? What’s our backup plan?”

“You think I can track a giant mythic bird, but I can’t locate one loudmouthed prince?”

“He’s managed to evade the Darkling for months. The man has centuries of practice at claiming what he wants.”

Mal studied me.

“Alina, do you know how I made that shot? Back in the Kettle?”

“The power of your overwhelming manhood?” I asked sardonically. “I don’t know, but if this is just a setup so you can say ‘because I’m just that good,’ I’m going to lob my boot at your head.”

“Well, I am that good,” he said with a faint grin. “But I had David put a beetle in the pouch.”

“Why?”

“To make aiming easier. All I had to do was track it.”

My brows rose and my mouth opened. “That. . . that’s an impressive trick.”

He shrugged. “It’s the only one I know. If Nikolai’s alive, we’ll find him,” he said certainly. He paused, then added, “I won’t fail you again.” He turned to go, but before he shut the door, he said, “Try to rest. I’ll be outside if you need me.”

I stood there for a long moment, struck dumb.

Fail me? Did that mean he. . . that we were still. . . . I pinched the bridge of my nose with a heavy sigh. It was too much to even consider. Did I want it? Did I not? I would always love him, but did I have the stomach to try to be with him again, after everything that had happened at the Little Palace? Something in my recoiled at the very idea. _He will never accept you,_ a cold voice in my head warned. I batted it away. For now, I would put it aside I could look at it when this was all over. If we were both still alive.

I glanced around the empty room. It had been disconcerting to see so many people crammed in here. How well did I know any of them? Harshaw and Stigg were a few years older than the others, Grisha who had made their way to the Little Palace after they’d heard the Sun Summoner had returned. They were practically strangers to me. The twins believed I was blessed by divine power. Zoya was closer to my age, but followed me only grudgingly. Sergei was falling apart, and I knew he probably blamed me for Marie’s death. Nadia might too. She’d grieved more quietly, but they’d been best friends.

And Mal. I supposed that whatever there was - or wasn’t - between us, we’d made a kind of peace, but it wasn’t an easy one. Or maybe we had just accepted what I was, that our paths would inevitably diverge. _You’re going to be a queen someday, Alina._

I knew I should at least try to sleep for a few minutes, but my mind wouldn’t slow down. My body was thrumming with the power I’d used and eager for more. It was all I could do not to call it to me, but I couldn’t wear myself out any more, not right now. I could work to regain my strength on our trek out of the caves, however long that was going to take.

I glanced at the door, wishing it had a lock. There was something I wanted to try. I’d attempted it a few times these past weeks and never managed anything more than a headache. It was dangerous, utterly stupid, and inexcusably irresponsible, but now that my power had returned, I wanted to try again.

I kicked off my boots and lay back on the narrow bed. I closed my eyes, felt the collar at my throat, the scales at my wrist, the presence of my power inside me like the beat of my heart. I felt the wound at my shoulder, the dark knot of scars made by the nichevo’ya. It had strengthened the bond between us, giving him access to my mind as the collar had given him access to my power. In the chapel, I had used that connection against him. I was foolish to test it now. Still, I wanted to. If the Darkling had access to that power, why shouldn’t I? It was a chance to understand the way the bond between us functioned. What its limits were. Perhaps I could even glean information he didn’t want me to have. I ignored the voice in me that told me there was another reason. I had felt him sometimes, over the long months. Surges of triumph and anger. Determination. Loneliness.

 _It won’t work,_ I reassured myself. _You’ll try, you’ll fail, you’ll have a little nap. It will be good for you._

I slowed my breathing, letting power course through me without calling on it. I thought of the Darkling, of the shadows I could bend with my fingers, of the collar around my neck that he had placed there, the fetter at my wrist that had separated me irrevocably from any other Grisha and truly set me on this path.

Nothing happened. I was lying on my back in a bed in the White Cathedral. I hadn’t gone anywhere. I was alone in a vacant room. I blinked up at the damp ceiling. It was better that way.

At the Little Palace, my isolation had nearly destroyed me, but that was because I had hungered for something else, for the sense of belonging I’d been chasing my whole life. I’d buried that need in the ruins of a chapel. Now I would think in terms of alliance instead of affection, of who and what would make me strong enough for this fight, of need instead of want.

I’d contemplated killing the Apparat today; I’d burned my mark into Vladim’s flesh. I’d told myself I had to, but the woman I’d been never would have considered such things. I hated the Darkling for what he’d done to Baghra and Genya, but was I so different? And when the third amplifier was around my wrist, would I be different at all? Was I different now?

 _Maybe not,_ I conceded, and with that admission came the barest tremor—a vibration moving over the connection between us, an answering echo at the other end of an invisible tether.

It called to me through the collar at my neck and the bite at my shoulder, amplified by the fetter at my wrist, a bond forged by merzost and the poison in my blood. _You called to me, and I answered._ I felt myself drawn upward, out of my body, speeding toward him. Maybe this was what Mal felt when he tracked—the distant pull of the other, a presence that demanded attention even if it couldn’t be seen or touched.

One moment I was floating in the darkness of my closed eyes, and the next I was standing in a brightly lit room. Everything around me was blurry, but I recognized this place just the same: I was in the throne room at the Grand Palace. People were talking. It was as if they were underwater. I heard noise but not words.

I knew the moment the Darkling saw me. He came into sharp focus, though the room around him remained a murky blur.

His self-control was so great that no one near him would have noticed the fleeting look of shock that passed over his perfect features. But I saw his gray eyes widen, his chest lock as his breath caught. His fingers clenched the arms of his chair—no, his throne. Then he relaxed, nodding along to whatever the person before him was saying.

I waited, watching. He’d fought for that throne, endured hundreds of years of battle and  
servitude to claim it. I had to admit it suited him well. Some petty part of me had hoped I’d find him weakened, his black hair turned to white like mine. But whatever damage I’d done to him that night in the chapel, he’d recovered far better than I had.

When the murmur of the supplicant’s voice cut off, the Darkling rose and stepped forward. The throne faded into the background, and I realized that the things closest to him looked the clearest, as if he were the lens through which I was seeing the world.

“I will take it under advisement,” he said, voice cool as cut glass, so familiar. “Now leave me.” He gave a brusque wave. “All of you.”

Did his lackeys exchange baffled glances or simply bow and depart? I couldn’t tell. The Darkling was already moving down the stairs, his gaze fastened on me. My heart clenched, and a single clear word reverberated in my mind: _run._ I’d been mad to attempt this, to seek him out. Utterly stupid. But I didn’t move. I didn’t release the tether.

Someone approached him, and when he was just inches from the Darkling, he came into clearer focus: red Grisha robes-- _Ivan._ He was as large as ever, but there was something almost drawn about his features. Some of the arrogance chipped away. He had survived his fight with Tolya, but apparently he still hadn’t fully recovered. I wondered if he ever would.

I could even make out his words: “. . . the matter of signatures fo--” Then the Darkling cut him off.

“Later,” he said sharply, and Ivan bowed before leaving.

The room emptied of sound and movement, and all the while, the Darkling kept his eyes on me. He crossed the parquet floor. With each step, the polished wood came into focus beneath his boot, then faded away again.

I had the strange sensation of lying on my bed in the White Cathedral and being here, in the throne room, standing in a warm square of sunlight.

He stopped before me, his eyes studying my face. What did he see there? He had come to me unscarred in my visions. Did he see me healthy and whole, my hair brown, my eyes bright? Or did he see the little mushroom girl, pale and gray, battered by our fight in the chapel, weakened by life underground? I pulled a lock of hair over my shoulder and glanced at it. Brown. I must look whole, then. Good.

“If only I’d known you’d prove such an apt pupil.” His voice was genuinely admiring, almost surprised. To my horror, I found part of myself taking pleasure in his praise. “Why come to me now?” he asked. “Has it taken you this long to recover from our skirmish?”

If that had been a mere skirmish, then we really were lost. _No,_ I told myself. He’d chosen that word deliberately, to intimidate me.

I ignored his question and said, “I wasn’t expecting compliments.”

“No?”

“I left you buried beneath a pile of rubble. So no.”

“And if I told you I respect your ruthlessness?”

“. . . I wouldn’t believe you.”

The barest smile touched his lips. “An apt pupil,” he repeated. “Why waste my anger on you when the fault is mine? I should have anticipated another betrayal from you, one more mad grasp at some kind of childish ideal. But I seem to be a victim of my own wishes where you are concerned.”

“Does it make you feel better to insult me?” I asked calmly.

His expression hardened. “It doesn’t make me feel anything. What have you come here for, Alina?”

I answered him honestly. “I wanted to see you.”

I caught the briefest glimpse of surprise before his face shuttered again. “There are two thrones on that dais. You could see me anytime you liked.”

“You’re offering me a crown? I tried to kill you.”

He shrugged again. “I might have done the same.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Not to save that motley band of traitors and fanatics, no. But I understand the desire to remain free.”

“And yet you tried to make me a slave,” I said softly.

“I sought Morozova’s amplifiers _for_ you, Alina, that we might rule as equals.”

“You tried to take my power for your own. My will.”

“After you ran from me. After you chose—” He stopped, shrugged. “We would have ruled as equals in time.”

“‘No.’" His eyes snapped to mine. "That was what you said to Ivan when he asked if I would kill the stag. _Before_ I left, _before_ you knew what I’d learned.”

“It wasn’t meant to last, Alina. I couldn’t put what I wanted before our people.”

“It was the same reason you tried to seduce me.” Anger flashed over his eyes, there and gone in an instant. Curiously, there was no anger in me, though, as if I had left the fire, the heat of my temper back with my body. “You wanted control. And I don’t think it was just for Ravka.

“Do you actually believe yourself?” I asked. “Or is it just another story? Do you tell yourself you would make it right in the end so you'll feel better?” I shook my head. “I didn’t think I would ever see Mal again when I left. I told you that. _I_ never lied to _you._ Not until after I learned the truth. Not until I learned what you wanted to do with my power.”

“And I have never run from you, not even when you betrayed me. I have fought to save Ravka while you have fought to doom it. I never asked you to be less than you are, to be anything other than yourself. When you were afraid of your power, of your strength, I was there. Not your tracker. Not your boy prince. You needed me, and I came to you, time and again, even as you fought against me.”

I felt that pull, the longing of someone who knew what it was to be alone. Even now, after everything he’d done, I wanted to believe him, to forgive him. To step into his arms. I wanted Nikolai to be alive. I wanted to trust the other Grisha. I wanted to believe anything so that I wouldn’t have to face the future alone. _The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak._ I looked down.

“We would be equals,” I said. “Maybe. Until the first time I disagreed with you. Until the moment I questioned your judgment or didn’t do as I was bid. Then you would deal with me the way you dealt with Genya. With your _mother._ The way you tried to deal with Mal.”

He leaned against the window, and the gilded frame came into sharp focus. “Do you think it would be any different with your tracker beside you? With that Lantsov pup?”

“Yes,” I said simply.

“Because you would be the strong one?”

“Because they’re better men than you.”

“You might make me a better man.”

I looked at him for a long moment. “. . .And you might make me a monster. You don’t listen. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be human. Saints, you even think I wanted to be with Mal because I’m more powerful than he is. It isn’t about control, and it isn't about power. Not this. It never was. And it shouldn’t be, not with someone you're supposed to love.”

“'Wanted?' Has the polish finally worn off, then?" If he was anyone else, he would have sounded arrogant and gloating. "Have you finally figured out that he’ll never be good enough for you? That he’ll never accept you?”

I ignored that. “To be a better man, you’d have to admit that you aren’t always right. You’d have to be willing to listen. Open to change. You’d have to trust someone. Even just one person.”

“And if that was exactly what I wanted, Alina?” he asked quietly. “If I told you I wanted more from you than your power?”

We looked at each other. His face was unreadable.

“I think you’ve been alone for a long, long time. I think I was an idea. A hope. But not a person, not really. I was a means to an end. A tool to be used and manipulated. To be properly handled. I think I didn’t start to become a person to you until I defied you, until I showed you, over and over again, that I wouldn’t be used or controlled. And I think, now that I have. . . <i>I’ve</i> actually started to matter to you,” I finished quietly.

His eyes tightened, there and gone. “Why did you come here, Alina?” he asked again.

“I told you why.”

His cool eyes studied my face. “I’ve never understood this taste you have for otkazat’sya,” he said blithely, like he was changing the subject. “Is it because you pretended to be one for so long?”

“I had a taste for you, once.” His head snapped up. He hadn’t expected that. Saints, it was satisfying. “Why haven’t you visited me?” I asked. “In all this time?” 

He stayed silent.

“There was barely a day at the Little Palace when you didn’t come,” I continued. “When I didn’t see you in some shadowed corner. You followed me. You watched me. You stayed while I slept. Held me, when I needed it. Snuck your hand into mine more than once. I thought I was going mad.”

“Good.”

“I think you’re afraid.”

“How comforting that must be for you.”

“I think you fear this thing that binds us. The way I used to.” I took a slow step forward. He tensed but did not move away.

“I am ancient, Alina. I know things about power that you can barely guess at.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be afraid of it. But it’s not just the power, is it?” I said quietly, remembering the way he had toyed with me when I’d first arrived at the palace—even before, from the first moment we’d met. I’d been lonely, desperate for connection. I must have given him so little sport.

I took another step. He stilled. Our bodies were almost touching now. I reached up and slipped my fingers over his skin, cupping his cheek with my hand. This time the flash of confusion on his face was impossible to miss. He held himself frozen, his only movement the steady rise and fall of his chest. Then, as if in concession, he let his eyes close. A line appeared between his brows.

Something in me twisted painfully. I exhaled deeply. “I don’t want to fight you,” I whispered, as if only just realizing it myself.

He opened his eyes and looked at me. “Then don’t.”

Before I knew what I was doing, I leaned in to press my forehead against his. He froze for a moment, then slid a hand up around the back of my neck, holding me there. Eventually, his other hand made it to my waist. My heart beat too fast.

I don’t know how long we stood like that. But eventually, I opened my eyes.

Without pulling away, I scattered, hurtling back to the White Cathedral, leaving him with nothing but the memory of light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. . . I've changed a lot as a writer since I started this project around nine months ago. Consequently, I seem to now have a lack of patience for clutching to Bardugo's writing style like I used to. Apparently mine is quite different in some ways, so I'm finding hers a bit. . . restrictive. Frustrating. I'm still going to do my best, subjectively speaking (I'm super literal), and I'm sort of hoping for some magical period of mental functionality that makes it easy, but just so you know. . . the original parts might not be as good as they once would have been. >_>
> 
> P.S. I giggled like a crazy person for like the whole last half the the chapter. CHAPTER THREE AND HE'S ALREADY HERE, THANK YOUUUUU *dies*
> 
> 7/18/17: Tweaks to the DL scene, more or less just cosmetic


	5. Pretend

I sat up with a gasp, sucking in the damp air of the alabaster chamber. I looked around worriedly, afraid someone was in here and would somehow know what I’d done. I shouldn’t have done it. What had I learned? That he was at the Grand Palace, suited to a throne, and in disgustingly good health? Paltry information. He wanted me, though, or he seemed to. That wasn’t nothing.

And if I believed for an instant that it was real, I was a fool.

But I wasn’t sorry. Now I knew what he saw when he visited me, what information he could or couldn’t cull from the contact. Now I had practice in one more power that had only belonged to him. And I’d enjoyed it. At the Little Palace, I’d dreaded those visions as much as I’d sometimes hoped for them. I thought I might be losing my mind, but worse, I’d wondered what they said about me. No longer. I was done being ashamed. Let him feel what it was to be haunted.

A headache was starting in my right temple. _I sought Morozova’s amplifiers for you, Alina._ Lies disguised as truth. He’d sought to make me more powerful, yes, but only because he believed he could control me. He still believed it, and that scared me.

The Darkling had no way of knowing that Mal and I knew where to start looking for the third amplifier, but he hadn’t seemed concerned. He hadn’t even mentioned the firebird. He’d seemed confident, strong, patient, as if he belonged in that palace and on that throne. _I know things about power that you can barely guess at._

I gave myself a shake. I might not be a threat, but I would become one. I wouldn’t let him beat me before I’d had a chance to give him the fight he deserved, the fight he had begged from the day we had met.

A quick knock came at the door. It was time - my visit had gone on longer than I’d thought. I pushed my feet back into my boots and adjusted my horrible, faded, scratchy kefta. After this, maybe I’d give myself a treat and stuff the thing in a stewpot, then light it on fire and send it over a cliff.

The services in the White Cathedral were quite a spectacle. It was a challenge to summon so far underground, but I could do it, and I threw twinkling, blazing light over the walls of the massive cavern, drawing on every reserve to awe the crowd that moaned and swayed below. Vladim stood to my left, his shirt open to display the brand of my palm on his chest. To my right, the Apparat held forth, and whether out of fear or real belief, he did a very convincing job of it. His voice rang through the main cavern, claiming that our mission was guided by divine providence and that I would emerge from my trials more powerful than ever before.

I studied him surreptitiously as he spoke. He looked paler than usual, a bit sweaty, though not particularly chastened. I wondered again how bad a mistake it was to leave him alive, but without the rush of fury and power guiding my actions, execution wasn’t a step I was prepared to take. Part of me was disappointed in myself for that.

A hush had fallen. I looked down into the eager faces of the people below. There was something new in their exultation, maybe because they’d gotten a glimpse of my real power. Or maybe because the Apparat had done his work so well. They were waiting for me to say something. I’d had dreams like this. I was an actor in a play, but I’d never learned my lines.

“I will—” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I will return more powerful than before,” I said in my best strong, holy Saint’s voice. “You are my eyes,” I said firmly. I needed them to be, to watch the Apparat, and to keep each other safe. “You are my hands. You are my blades. Together, we will take back our nation!”

The crowd cheered. As one, they chorused back to me, _Sankta Alina! Sankta Alina! Sankta Alina!_

“Not bad,” Mal said as I stepped away from the balcony.

“I’ve been listening to the priest of mold and backstabbing bluster for nearly three months,” I replied in an undertone. “I should be able to outdo Nikolai by now.”

On my orders, the Apparat announced that he would spend three days in isolation, fasting and praying for the success of our mission. The Priestguards would do the same, confined to the archives and guarded by the Soldat Sol. It would give us a chance to put distance between ourselves and him, should he decide to waste no time in trying to subvert me again.

“Keep them strong in their faith,” I told Ruby and the other soldiers. It was a little ironic, and more than a little vindictive, but they would have no way of knowing that.

“I knew you,” Ruby said, clutching my fingers as I turned to go. “I was in your regiment. Do you remember?”

Her eyes were wet, and the tattoo on her cheek was so black it seemed to float on top of her skin.

“I do,” I said. We hadn’t been friends. Ruby had been just another girl who wanted more to do with Mal than anything else. Like religion. She had avoided me unless she needed an in with my best friend.

Now she released a sob and pressed a kiss to my knuckles. “Sankta,” she whispered fervently. Whenever I thought my life couldn’t get any stranger, it did. For some reason, this disturbed me more than the chanting, more than the prayers.

I put a hand to her head awkwardly. Once I’d disentangled myself from her, I took a final moment to speak to the Apparat in private.

“You know what I’m going after, and you have some idea of the power I’ll wield when I return. Nothing happens to the Soldat Sol or to Maxim. You take good care of them, and you take good care of the refugees. You do nothing to subvert me or my claim to them in my absence, or I will burn you alive.” My tone was so calm it was almost unsettling.

I didn’t like leaving Maxim here on his own here, but I would hardly force him to join us, especially not knowing the dangers we were likely to face on the surface.

“We are not enemies, Sankta Alina,” the Apparat said gently. “You must know that all I’ve ever wanted was to see you on Ravka’s throne.”

I almost smiled at that. “Oh, I don’t doubt that for a moment.” He wanted to see me on the throne, yes. And well under his thumb. I had every intention of putting him down the first moment I could. I should have been bothered by the thought. Mere months ago, I would have. Now, I felt I had no more room for childish ideals. The Apparat was a dangerous man, and he always would be.

He tilted his head to one side, contemplating me. The fanatical glint was gone from his eyes. He simply looked shrewd.

“You are not what I expected,” he admitted.

“You’ll pardon me if I take that as a compliment.”

“You are a lesser Saint,” he said, and I bristled inside. “But perhaps a better queen. I will pray for you, Alina Starkov.”

The strange thing was I actually believed him.

 

* * * * *

 

Mal and I met the others at Chetya’s Well, a natural fountain at the crossroads of four of the major tunnels. If the Apparat did decide to send a party after us, we’d be harder to track from there. At least that was the idea, but we hadn’t bargained how many of the pilgrims would turn out to see us off. They’d followed the Grisha from their quarters and crowded around the fountain to wait.

We were all in ordinary travel clothes, our kefta stowed in our packs. I’d gleefully singed my faded gold robes and traded it for a heavy coat, a fur hat, and the comforting weight of a gun belt at my hip. If it hadn’t been for my white hair, I doubted any of the pilgrims would have recognized me.

They reached out to touch my sleeve or my hand. Some pressed little gifts on us, the only offerings they had: hoarded bread rolls gone tooth-breakingly hard, polished stones, bits of lace, a copper coin, a clutch of salt lilies. They murmured prayers for our health with tears in their eyes.

I saw Genya’s surprise when a woman placed a dark green prayer shawl around her shoulders. “Not black,” she said. “For you, not black.”

I smiled warmly, and gave her a benediction: my two palms gently warm and softly glowing, placed on her cheeks, along with a gentle kiss to her wrinkled forehead. Tears were streaming down her cheeks when I pulled away and, despite her protests, brought her hand up to press a grateful kiss to it.

A legend of my humility that would last generations might spring from that single encounter, but it didn’t matter. The woman was kind; that should be encouraged.

An ache began in my throat as we moved. It wasn’t just the Apparat who had kept me isolated from these people. I’d distanced myself from them as well. I distrusted their faith because I saw it as colored by the Apparat, but mostly I feared their hope. The love and care in these tiny gestures was a burden I didn’t want.

I paused to shake hands when I had to, to dip my chin in thanks, to murmur reassurances, and then we were on our way. I’d been carried into the White Cathedral on a stretcher. At least I was leaving on my feet.

Mal took the lead. I summoned orbs of soft light so we could see where we were going. I planned to twist them into different shapes to see where my concentration was. As I got stronger, I would start casting my net out again. _If you’re awake, it’s up._ I worried that three months would have been too much time to go without practice when I was likely to need everything I could get from my power soon.

Tolya and Tamar brought up the rear, scouting behind us to make sure that no one followed. I made a point of falling back just long enough to thank them for what they’d done, and to tell them that they had my trust. Tolya looked choked up, but gave a gruff nod, and Tamar gave me an impish grin and squeezed my fingers.

Through David’s access to the archives and Mal’s innate sense of direction, they’d managed to construct a rough map of the tunnel network. They had started plotting a course to Ryevost, but there were gaps in their information. No matter how accurate they’d been, we couldn’t be sure of what we might be walking into.

After my escape from Os Alta, the Darkling’s men had tried to penetrate the network of tunnels beneath Ravka’s churches and holy sites. When their searches turned up empty, they’d begun bombing: closing off exit routes, trying to drive anyone seeking shelter to the surface. The Darkling’s Alkemi had created new explosives that collapsed buildings and forced combustible gases belowground. All it took was a single Inferni spark, and whole sections of the ancient network of tunnels collapsed. It was one of the reasons the Apparat had given for insisting I remain at the White Cathedral.

There were rumors of cave-ins to the west of us, so Mal led us north. It wasn’t the most direct route, but we hoped it would be stable. Saving time would hardly matter if we were all crushed under several tonnes of stone.

It was a relief to be moving through the tunnels, to finally be doing something after so many weeks of confinement. My body was still weak, but I felt stronger than I had in months, and I pushed onward without complaint.

I tried not to think too hard about what it would mean if the smuggling station at Ryevost wasn’t active. I tried not to think how we were supposed to find a prince who didn’t want to be found, and do it while remaining hidden ourselves. If Nikolai was alive, he would be looking for me, and he likely would have sought alliance elsewhere. Undoubtedly he would have heard of the Darkling’s bizarre attacks on chapels and churches. Clever as he was, perhaps he would have guessed at how we’d escaped, and know that if the Darkling was looking, I was probably alive.

The tunnels grew darker as we moved farther from the White Cathedral and its strange alabaster glow. Soon our way was lit by nothing but my soft glow. Lanterns were tied to packs for when I was asleep; I refused to even consider the possibility that I couldn’t maintain a small handful of lights all day. In some places, the caverns were so narrow that we had to remove our packs and wriggle along between the press of walls. Then, without warning, we’d find ourselves in a giant cave wide enough to pasture horses.

Mal had been right: so many people traveling together were noisy and unwieldy. We made frustratingly slow progress, marching in a long column with Zoya, Nadia, and Adrik spread out along the line; in case of a cave-in, the air our Squallers could summon might provide valuable breathing time for anyone trapped.

David and Genya kept falling behind despite the pace, but he seemed to be the one responsible for the lag. Finally, Tolya hefted the huge pack from David’s narrow shoulders.

He grunted when he took the weight. “What do you have in this thing?”

“Three pairs of socks, one pair of trousers, an extra shirt. One canteen. A tin cup and plate. A cylindrical slide rule, a chrondometer, a jar of spruce sap, my collection of anticorrosives—”

“You were only supposed to pack what you need.”

David gave an emphatic nod. “Exactly.”

“. . . David, did you bring Morozova’s journals?” I asked.

“Of course I did.”

 _“All_ of them?”

He nodded and I rolled my eyes. There had to be at least fifteen leather-bound books. “Maybe they’ll make good kindling.”

“Is she kidding?” David asked, looking concerned. “I can never tell if she’s kidding.”

I was. Mostly. I’d hoped the journals would give me insight into the firebird and maybe even into how the amplifiers could help me destroy the Fold. But they’d been a dead end, at least for me, and if I was honest, they’d frightened me a little too. Baghra had warned me of Morozova’s madness, and yet somehow I’d expected to find wisdom in his work. Instead, his journals had provided me with a study in obsession, all of it documented in nearly indecipherable scrawl. Apparently genius didn’t require good penmanship.

His early journals chronicled his experiments: the blacked-out formula for liquid fire, a means of preventing organic decay, the trials that had led to the creation of Grisha steel, a method for restoring oxygen to the blood, the endless year he’d spent finding a way to create unbreakable glass. His skills extended beyond those of an ordinary Fabrikator, and he was well aware of it. One of the essential tenets of Grisha theory was “like calls to like,” but Morozova seemed to believe that if the world could be broken down to the same small parts, each Grisha should be able to manipulate them. _Are we not all things?_ he demanded, underlining the words for emphasis. He was arrogant, audacious, sometimes amoral—but still sane.

Then his work on the amplifiers had begun, and even I could see the change. The text got denser, messier. The margins were full of diagrams and frenzied arrows that referred back to earlier passages. Worse were the descriptions of experiments he’d performed on animals, and the illustrations of his dissections. They turned my stomach and made me think Morozova had deserved whatever early martyrdom he’d received. He’d killed animals and then brought them back to life, sometimes repeatedly, delving deeper into merzost, creation, the power of life over death, trying to find a way to create amplifiers that might be used together. It was forbidden power, but I knew its temptation well, and it worried me to think that pursuing it might have driven him mad.

If he was led by some noble purpose, I didn’t see it in his pages. But I sensed something more in his fevered writings, in his insistence that power was everywhere for the taking. He had lived long before the creation of the Second Army, back when Ravka had been barely recognizable as the nation it was today. He was the most powerful Grisha the world had ever known—and that power had isolated him.

I remembered the Darkling’s words to me: _There are no others like us, Alina. And there never will be._ Maybe Morozova wanted to believe that if there were no others like him, there could be, that he might create Grisha of greater power. Or maybe I was just imagining things, seeing my own loneliness and greed and longing and fears in Morozova’s pages. The mess of what I knew and what I wanted, my desire for the firebird, my own sense of difference had all gotten too hard to untangle. I couldn’t help but wonder if it got easier or harder to separate one from the other over the centuries.

I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of rushing water. We were approaching an underground river. Mal slowed our pace and had me brighten the light over his head, better illuminating the path. It was a good thing too, because the drop came fast, so steep and sudden that Zoya slammed right into his back, nearly knocking him over the edge and into the water below. Here, the roar was deafening, the river rushing past at uncertain depth, plumes of mist rising from the rapids.

We tied a rope around Tolya’s waist, and he waded across, then secured it on the other side so we could follow one by one, attached to the line. The water was ice cold and came all the way up to my chest, the force of it pulling me nearly off my feet as I held on to the rope. Harshaw was the last to cross. I had a moment of terror when he lost his footing and the tether nearly snapped free. Then he was up, gasping for breath, Oncat soaked to the skin and spitting mad. By the time Harshaw reached us, his face and neck were a patchwork of tiny scratches.

After that, we were all eager to stop, but Mal insisted we keep going.

“I’m drenched,” Zoya groused. “Why can’t we stop in this dank cave instead of the next dank cave?”

Mal didn’t break stride, but hooked a thumb back at the river. “Because of that,” he shouted over the din of rushing water. “If we’ve been followed, it will be too easy for someone to sneak up on us with that noise as cover.”

Zoya scowled, but I surrounded us all with heat and we pushed on, until finally we’d outdistanced the river’s clamor. We spent the night in a hollow of damp limestone where there was nothing to hear but our teeth chattering as we shivered in our damp clothes - I couldn’t maintain that much light and heat long enough to dry us all out.

I was in a bad mood the rest of the night.

 

* * * * *

 

For two days, we carried on like that, moving through the tunnels, occasionally backtracking when a route proved impassable. I’d lost all sense of what direction we were heading, but when Mal announced that we were turning west, I noticed that the passages were sloping upward, leading us toward the surface.

He set an unforgiving pace. To keep contact, he and the twins would whistle to each other from opposite ends of the column, making sure no one had drifted too far behind. Occasionally, he’d fall back to check on everyone.

“I know what you’re doing,” I said slyly once when he returned to the head of the line.

“What’s that?”

“You pop back there when someone’s lagging, start up a conversation, until they’re too distracted to remember how tired they are. You ask David about the properties of phosphor or Nadia about her freckles—”

“I have never asked Nadia about her freckles.”

“Her lovely eyes or sterling singing voice or collection of spoons. Whatever. Then gradually you start to pick up the pace so that they’re walking faster.”

“It seems to work better than jabbing them with a stick,” he said drily.

“Much less fun, though. More work. Less rewarding.”

“My jabbing arm is tired.”

Then he was gone, pressing ahead again. He was doing at least half again as much walking as anyone else, and still most of us had to work to keep up. That was the most we’d spoken since we’d left the White Cathedral.

No one else seemed to have trouble talking. Tamar had started trying to teach Nadia some Shu ballads. Unfortunately, her memory was terrible, but her brother’s was nearly perfect and he’d eagerly taken over. The normally taciturn Tolya could recite entire cycles of epic poetry in Ravkan and Shu—even if no one wanted to hear them.

Though Mal had ordered that we remain in strict formation, Genya frequently escaped to the front of the column to complain to me.

“Every poem is about a brave hero named Kregi,” she said. “Every single one. He always has a steed, and we have to hear about the steed and the three different kinds of swords he carried and the color of the scarf he wore tied to his wrist and all the poor monsters he slew and then how he was a gentle man and true. For a mercenary, Tolya is disturbingly maudlin.”

I laughed and glanced back, though I couldn’t see much. “Aw, come on. Everyone has a soft spot, even deadly, terrifying, boulder-sized shu Heartrenders. How is David liking it?”

“David is oblivious. He’s been babbling about mineral compounds for the last hour.”

“Maybe he and Tolya will just put each other to sleep,” Zoya grumbled.

She had no business griping. Though they were all Etherealki, the only thing the Squallers and Inferni seemed to have in common was how much they loved to argue. Stigg didn’t want Harshaw near him because he couldn’t stand cats. Harshaw was constantly taking offense on Oncat’s behalf. Adrik was supposed to stay near the middle of the group, but he wanted to be close to Zoya. Zoya kept slipping away from the head of the column to try to get away from Adrik. I was starting to wish I’d cut the rope and left them all to drown in the river.

And Harshaw didn’t just annoy me; he made me nervous. He liked to drag his flint along the cave walls, sending off little sparks, and he was constantly slipping bits of hard cheese out of  
his pocket to feed Oncat, then chuckling as if the tabby had said something particularly funny. One morning, we woke to find that he’d shaved the sides of his scalp so that his crimson hair ran in a single thick stripe down the center of his head.

“What did you do?” shrieked Zoya. “You look like a deranged rooster!”

Harshaw just shrugged. “Oncat insisted.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be wildly amused, or genuinely unsettled.

Still, the tunnels occasionally surprised us with wonders that rendered even the bickering Etherealki speechless. We’d spend hours with nothing to look at but gray rock and mud-covered lime, then emerge into a pale blue cave so perfectly round and smooth that it was like standing inside a giant enamel egg. We stumbled into a series of little caves glittering with what might well have been real rubies. Genya dubbed it the Jewelbox, and after that, we took to naming all of them to pass the time.

There was the Orchard—a cavern full of stalactites and stalagmites that had fused together into slender columns. And less than a day later, we came across the Dancehall, a long cave of pink quartz with a floor so slippery we had to crawl over it, occasionally sliding to our bellies. Then there was the eerie, partially submerged iron portcullis we called the Angelgate. It was flanked by two winged stone figures, their heads bent, their hands resting on marble broadswords. The winch worked and we passed through it without incident, but why had it been put there? And by whom?

On the fourth day, we came upon a cavern with a perfectly still pool that gave the illusion of a night sky, its depths sparkling with tiny luminescent fish.

Mal and I were slightly ahead of the others. He dipped his hand in, then yelped and drew back. “They bite.”

“‘Oh, look,’” I mocked, “‘a dark lake full of something shiny and moving. Let me put my hand in it.’ I might have suggested something even more stupid, had you been open to suggestions.”

“I can’t help being delicious,” he said, that familiar cocky grin flashing across his face like light over water. Then he seemed to catch himself. He shouldered his pack, and I knew he was about to move away from me.

I wasn’t sure where the words came from: “You never failed me, Mal. Not after he showed up and took me.”

He wiped his damp hand on his thigh. “We both know better.” He said the words so casually, as if stating an obvious and long-accepted truth.

“Have I ever shied away from telling you off when you screwed up? Or yelling at you when you deserved it? We’re going to be traveling together for who knows how long. Eventually, you are going to have to talk to me.”

“I’m talking to you right now.”

“And is it so terrible? Half has torturous as you thought it would be?”

“It wouldn’t be,” he said, gazing at me steadily, “if all I wanted to do was talk.”

My face went slack. I didn’t want to do this. But I felt my edges curl like a piece of paper held too close to fire. “Mal—”

“I need to keep you safe, Alina,” he interrupted. “To stay focused on what matters. I can’t do that if. . . .” He let out a long breath. “You were meant for more than me. I understand that now, and I’m not going to fight it. I’ll die to give it to you, in fact. But please don’t ask me to pretend it’s easy.”

He plunged ahead into the next cave before I could recover enough to say anything.

I looked down at the glittering pond, the whorls of light in the water still settling after Mal’s brief touch. I could hear the others making their noisy way through the cavern. _Why does everyone think they get to decide for me?_ I asked silently.

“Oncat scratches me all the time,” said Harshaw as he ambled up beside me.

“Oh?” I asked hollowly.

“Funny thing is, she likes to stay close.”

“Are you being profound, Harshaw?”

“Actually, I was wondering, if I ate enough of those fish, would I start to glow?”

I huffed a laugh. I still couldn’t decide if he was mad, or brilliant. I fell in step with the others and headed into the next tunnel.

“Come on, Harshaw,” I called limply over my shoulder.

Then the first explosion hit.


	6. An Excellent Dancer

The whole cavern shook. Little rivulets of pebbles clattered down on us.

Mal was beside me in an instant. He yanked me away from falling rock as Zoya bracketed my other side.

“Lights out!” Mal shouted over the rumble. “Packs off.”

We shoved our packs against the walls as a kind of buttress, then I doused the light in case any amount of heat might set off another explosion.

 _Boom._ Above us? North of us? It was hard to tell.

Long seconds passed. _Boom._ This one was closer, louder. Rocks and soil rained down on our bent heads.

“He found us,” moaned Sergei, his voice ragged with fear.

“He couldn’t have,” Zoya protested. “Even the Apparat didn’t know where we were headed.”

Mal shifted slightly. I heard the smatter of pebbles. “It’s a random attack,” he said.

Genya’s voice trembled when she whispered, “That cat is bad luck.”

 _Boom._ Loud enough to rattle my jaw and send my hands to my ears.

“Metan yez,” said David. Marsh gas.

I smelled it a second later, peaty and foul. If there were Inferni above us, a spark would follow and blow us all to bits. Someone started crying.

“Squallers,” commanded Mal, “send it east.” How could he sound so calm?

I felt Zoya move, then the rush of air as she and the others drove the gas away from us.

 _Boom._ It was hard to breathe. The space seemed too small.

“Oh, Saints,” Sergei quavered.

“I see flame!” Tolya shouted.

“Send it east,” repeated Mal, voice steady. The whoosh of Squaller wind followed. Mal’s body was braced next to mine. My hand bumped Mal’s, and our fingers twined together of their own accord. I heard a small sob from my other side, and I reached for Zoya’s arm, wrapping a steadying hand around it.

 _BOOM._ This time the whole tunnel roared with the sound of falling rock. I heard people shouting in the dark. Dust filled my lungs.

When the noise stopped, Mal said, “No lanterns under any circumstances. Alina, we need cool light.” It was a struggle, but I found a thread and let it blossom through the tunnel, cool and blue-white. We were all covered in dust, eyes wide and frightened. I did a quick tally: Mal, Genya, David, Zoya, Nadia, and Harshaw—Oncat tucked into his shirt.

“Tolya?” shouted Mal.

Nothing. Then, a muffled, “We’re all right.”

Tolya’s voice came from behind the wall of fallen rock blocking the tunnel, but it was strong and clear. I pressed my hands to my knees in relief.

“Where’s my brother?” yelled Nadia sharply.

“He’s here with me and Tamar,” Tolya replied.

“Sergei and Stigg?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

Saints.

We waited for another boom, for the rest of the tunnel to come down on top of us. When nothing happened, we started scrabbling toward Tolya’s voice as he and Tamar dug from the other side. In a matter of moments, we saw their hands, then their dirty faces staring back at us. They scooted into our section of the tunnel. As soon as Adrik dropped his hands, the ceiling above where he and the twins had been standing collapsed in a billow of dust and rock. He was shaking badly.

“You held the cave?” Zoya asked. She sounded disbelieving.

Tolya nodded. “He made a bubble as soon as we heard that last boom.”

“Huh,” Zoya said to Adrik. “I’m impressed.”

At the elation that burst over his face, she groaned. “Never mind. I’m downgrading that to grudging approval.”

“Sergei?” I called. “Stigg?”

Silence, the shift of gravel.

“Let me try something,” said Zoya. She raised her hands. I heard a crackling in my ears, and the air seemed to grow damp. “Sergei?” she said. Her voice sounded weirdly distant.

Then I heard Sergei’s voice, weak and trembling, but clear, as if he were speaking right beside me. “Here,” he panted.

Zoya flexed her fingers, making adjustments, and called to Sergei again.

This time, when he replied, David said, “It sounds like it’s coming from below us.”

“Maybe not,” Zoya replied. “The acoustics can be misleading.”

Mal moved farther down the passage. “No, he’s right. The floor in their segment of the tunnel must have collapsed.”

It took us nearly two hours to find them and dig them out—Tolya hefting soil, Mal calling directions, the Squallers stabilizing the sides of the tunnel with air as I maintained illumination, the others forming a line to move rocks and sand.

When we found Stigg and Sergei, they were covered in mud and nearly comatose.

“Lowered our pulses,” Sergei mumbled groggily, the words slurring. “Slow respiration. Use less air.”

Tolya and Tamar brought them back, raising their heart rates and flushing their lungs with oxygen.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” slurred a still-bleary Stigg.

“Why?” cried Genya, gently brushing the dirt from around his eyes.

“He wasn’t sure that you’d care,” said Harshaw from behind me.

There were mumbled protests and some guilty looks. I did think of Stigg and Harshaw as outsiders. And Sergei. . . well. . . Sergei had been lost for a while now, and though I hated to think of him this way, he was a liability. None of us had done a very good job of reaching out to them.

I kneeled down and started brushing dirt from Sergei’s tunic. “You’re my people,” I said, voice quiet but firm. “I don’t leave my people behind. I wouldn’t abandon Zoya, and we can’t even stand each other. Why would we leave _you?”_

No one answered. I didn’t mind.

When Sergei and Stigg could walk, we headed back to the more intact part of the tunnel. One by one, the Squallers tapered off and released their power as we waited to see if the ceiling would hold so they could rest. We brushed the dust and grime off one another’s faces and clothes as best we could, then passed a flask of kvas around. Stigg clung to it like a baby with a bottle.

“Everyone okay?” Mal asked.

“Never better,” said Genya shakily.

David raised his hand. “I’ve been better.”

We all started laughing.

“What?” he said.

“How did you even do that?” Nadia asked Zoya. “That trick with the sound?”

“It’s just a way of creating an acoustical anomaly. We used to play with it back in school so we could eavesdrop on people in other rooms.”

Genya snorted. “Of course you did.”

“Could you show us how to do it?” asked Adrik.

“If I’m ever bored enough.”

“Nadia, Adrik, Zoya,” Mal said, “are you ready to move again?”

They all nodded. Their faces had the gleam that came with using Grisha power, but I knew they must already be approaching their limits. They’d been keeping tonnes of rock off us for half a mile; they’d need more than a few minutes of rest to restore themselves.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” Mal said.

I lit the way, wary of what surprises might be waiting for us. We moved cautiously, Squallers on alert, twisting through tunnels and passages until I had no sense of which way we were going. We were well off the map that David and Mal had created.

Every sound seemed magnified. Every fall of pebbles made us pause, frozen, waiting for the worst. I tried to think of anything but the weight of the soil above us. If the earth came down and the Squallers’ power failed, we would be crushed and no one would ever know, wildflowers pressed between the pages of a book and forgotten.

Eventually, I became aware that my legs were working harder and realized the grade of the floor had turned steep. I heard relieved sighs, a few quiet cheers, and less than an hour later, we found ourselves crowded into some kind of basement room, looking up at the bottom of a trapdoor.

The ground was wet here, pocked by little puddles—signs that we must be close to the river cities. By the light from my palms, I could see that the stone walls were cracked, but whether the damage was old or the result of the recent explosions, I couldn’t tell.

“How did you do it?” I asked Mal in near-amazement.

He shrugged. “Same as always. There’s game on the surface. I just treated it like a hunt.”

I huffed a quiet, incredulous laugh. “Normal my ass,” I muttered to myself.

Tolya pulled David’s old watch from the pocket of his coat. I wasn’t sure when he’d acquired it. “If this thing is keeping time right, we’re well past sunset.”

“You have to wind it every day,” said David.

“I know that.”

“Well, did you?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s keeping time right.”

I wondered if anyone should remind David that Tolya’s fist was roughly the circumference of his head.

Zoya sniffed. “With our luck, someone will be setting up for midnight mass.”

Many of the entrances and exits to the tunnels were found in holy places—but not all of them. We might emerge in the apse of a church or the courtyard of a monastery or we might poke our heads out of the floor of a brothel. 

“I’ll check,” I whispered, and closed my eyes.

My net was shaky at best, but starved as I was for the light it was almost effortless to feel it through the cracks in the floor. 

The room was hexagonal, its walls roughened. The corners were thick with what felt like cobwebs, and there was a low, solid rectangular shape in the center of the room. An alter, maybe, or. . . . I shivered. A crypt. Whoever rested there was the only occupant, though.

“All clear,” I said. “I can’t feel outside the room, though. No windows, and the door is sealed tight. I’m still too weak to do any better,” I said apologetically.

Mal nodded and signaled for Tolya and Tamar to flank me, just in case.

“Be ready,” he said to them. “Any sign of trouble, you get her out of here. Take the tunnels due west as far as you can.”

I gritted my teeth, but didn’t argue.

It was only after he’d started climbing the ladder that I realized we’d all hung back like we expected him to go first. Tolya and Tamar were both more experienced fighters, and Mal was the only otkazat’sya among us. So why was he the one taking the brunt of the risk? I wanted to call him back, have someone else go, but I wouldn’t do that to him. Besides, it wasn’t like I could go, and “careful” wasn’t something we did anymore.

At the top of the ladder, he gestured down at me, and I slowly dimmed the light until it winked out, pitching us into darkness. I heard a quiet thump, the sound of hinges straining, then a soft grunt and a creak as the trapdoor opened. No light flooded down, no shouts, no gunfire.

My heart was pounding in my chest. I followed the sounds of Mal levering himself up, his footfalls above us. Finally, I heard the scrape of a match, and light bloomed through the trapdoor. Mal whistled twice—the all clear.

One by one, we ascended the ladder. When I stuck my head through the trapdoor, a chill slid over my spine at confirmation of my guess - it was a crypt. The walls weren’t rough, they were carved from what looked like blue lapis, each studded with wooden panels painted with a different Saint, their golden halos glinting in the lamplight. Old dust covered everything. Mal’s lantern rested on the stone sarcophagus.

“Perfect,” said Zoya. “From a tunnel to a tomb. What’s next, an outing to a slaughterhouse?”

“Mezle,” David said, pointing to one of the names carved into the wall. “They were an old Grisha family. There was even one of them at the Little Palace before—”

“Before everyone died?” put in Genya helpfully.

“Ziva Mezle,” Nadia said quietly. “She was a Squaller.”

“Can we host this salon somewhere else?” Zoya asked. “I want to get out of here.”

I clenched my hands into loose fists to keep from rubbing my arms and moved toward the door. It looked like heavy iron. Tolya and Mal braced their shoulders against it as we arrayed ourselves behind them, hands raised, Inferni with their flints ready. I took my position in back, prepared to do whatever might be necessary to keep us safe.

“On three,” Mal said.

A snort of quiet laughter escaped me. Everyone turned.

“What? Come on, we’re probably in a graveyard, and we’re about to come charging out of a tomb.”

Genya giggled. “If anyone’s out there, we’re going to scare the sneeze out of him.”

With the barest hint of a grin, Mal said, “Let’s lead with an _ooooooo.”_ Then the grin disappeared. He nodded at Tolya. “Stay low.”

He counted down, and they shoved. The bolts shrieked, and the tomb doors flew open. We waited, but there were no sounds of alarm to greet us.

Slowly, we filed out into the deserted cemetery. It was infuriating being cloistered at the back, but I knew I should get used to it.

This close to the river, people buried their dead aboveground in case of flooding. The tombs, arrayed in tidy rows like stone houses, gave the whole place the feel of an abandoned city. A wind blew through, shaking leaves free from the trees and stirring the grasses that grew up around the smaller grave sites. It was eerie, but I didn’t care. The air was almost warm after the chill of the caves. We were outside at last.

It was a clear, moonless night, and after those long months underground, the sight of all that sky was dizzying. And so many stars—a glittering, tangled mass that seemed close enough to touch. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, breathing deeply, a smile spreading over my face. I let the abundant starlight, an ocean after all those weeks with nothing but firelight, fall over me like a balm, grateful for the air in my lungs, the night all around me.

“Alina,” Mal said softly.

I opened my eyes, a warm, beatific smile still on my face. The Grisha were staring, and my smile dropped. “What?”

He took my hands and held them out in front of me, as if we were about to start a dance. “You’re glowing.”

“Oh,” I breathed with a joy-filled laugh. My skin was silver, cocooned in starlight. I hadn’t even realized I was summoning. “Sorry.”

He ran a finger down my forearm where the sleeve had ridden up, watching the play of light over my skin, a smile curling his lips. It sent a shiver up my spine and straight to my chest. Abruptly, he stepped back. He dropped my hands as if they were hot.

“Be more careful,” he said tightly. He gestured to Adrik to help Tolya reseal the crypt as I mournfully dismissed the light, then spoke to the group. “Stay close and keep quiet. We need to find cover before dawn.”

The others fell into step behind him, letting him lead yet again. I hung back, still actively brushing the light from my skin. It clung to me, as if my body was thirsty for it.

When Zoya drew level with me, she said, “You know, Starkov, I’m beginning to think you turned your hair white on purpose.”

I flicked a speck of starlight from my wrist, watching it closely as it faded. “Worth the risk of death to look more like a creature who eats children? Absolutely. Courting death is an integral part of any true beauty regimen, after all.”

She shrugged and cast a glance at Mal. “Well, it’s a little obvious for my taste, but I’d say the whole moon maiden look is working.”

The last person I wanted to talk to about Mal - or nearly anything - was Zoya, but that had sounded suspiciously like a compliment. I remembered her hand covering mine and gripping it during the cave-in and how strong she’d seemed to stay throughout it all.

“I do what I can,” I said. “. . .Thanks, by the way. For everything you did down there. Being crushed under a mountain would likely ruin my skin. I can’t imagine Sergei or Stigg were too put off by your help, either.” We all knew they never would have been found without her.

Even if I hadn’t meant a word of it, the look of shock on her face would have been worth it.

“You’re welcome,” she managed, sounding taken aback. Then she leveled her perfect jaw and added, “But I won’t always be around to save your ass, Sun Summoner.”

I followed her down the aisle of graves. “Good,” I said petulantly to myself. 

At least she was predictable.

 

* * * * *

 

It took us far too long to get out of the cemetery. The rows of crypts stretched on and on and on, cold testimony to the generations Ravka had been at war. The paths were raked clean, the graves marked with flowers, painted icons, gifts of candy, little piles of precious ammunition—small kindnesses, even for the dead. I thought of the men and women bidding us goodbye at the White Cathedral, pressing their offerings into our hands. I was grateful when we finally cleared the gates.

The terror of the cave-in and long hours on our feet had taken their toll, but Mal was determined to get us as close to Ryevost as he could before dawn. We trudged onward, marching parallel to the main road, keeping to the starlit fields. When we were in the open, I obscured us as best I could, but casting us all out of sight was far beyond my ability, especially with how tired I was. Occasionally we glimpsed a lone house, a lantern glowing in the window. It was a relief, somehow, to see these signs of life, to think of a farmer rising in the night to fill his cup with water, his head turning briefly to the window and the darkness beyond.

The sky had just started to lighten when we heard the sounds of someone approaching on the road. We barely had time to dart into the woods and take shelter in the brush before we glimpsed the first wagon.

There were about fifteen people in the convoy, mostly men, a few women, all bristling with weapons. I glimpsed bits and pieces of First Army uniforms—standard-issue trousers shoved into decidedly nonregulation cowhide boots, an infantry coat shorn of its brass buttons.

It was impossible to tell what they were transporting. Their cargo had been covered by horse  
blankets and tightly secured to the wagon beds with rope.

“Militia?” Tamar whispered.

“Deserters?” I suggested.

“Not sure where either of them would get repeating rifles,” Mal said.

“If they’re smugglers, I don’t know any of them,” Tamar said.

“I could follow,” Tolya offered.

“Why don’t I just go do a waltz in the middle of the road?” Tamar taunted in a whisper. Tolya was hardly quiet on his feet.

“I’m getting better,” Tolya said defensively. “Besides—”

Mal silenced them with a look. “Do not pursue, do not engage.”

As Mal led us deeper into the trees, Tolya grumbled, “You don’t even know how to waltz.”

 

* * * * *

 

We made camp in a clearing near a slender tributary of the Sokol, the river fed by the glaciers in the Petrazoi and the heart of commerce in the port cities. We hoped we were far enough from town and the main roads that we wouldn’t have to worry about anyone stumbling upon us.

According to the twins, the smugglers’ meeting place was in a busy square that overlooked the river in Ryevost. Tamar already had a compass and map in hand. Though she must have been as tired as the rest of us, she would have to leave immediately to make it to town before noon.

I hated letting her walk into what might be a trap, but we’d agreed that she would have to be the one to go. Tolya’s size made him far too conspicuous and none of the rest of us knew the way the smugglers worked or how to recognize them. Still, my nerves were uneasy.

I gave Tamar’s hand a quick squeeze. “Don’t do anything reckless, please.”

Nadia had been hovering nearby. Now she cleared her throat and kissed Tamar once on each cheek. “Be safe,” she said.

Tamar flashed her Heartrender’s grin. “If anyone wants trouble,” she said, flicking back her coat to reveal the handles of her axes, “I’ve a fresh supply.”

I glanced at Nadia. I had the distinct impression Tamar was showing off.

She pulled up her hood and set out at a jog through the trees.

“Yuyeh sesh,” Tolya called after her in Shu.

“Ni weh sesh,” she shouted over her shoulder. And then she was gone.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s something our father taught us,” Tolya replied. “Yuyeh sesh: ‘despise your heart.’ But that’s the direct translation. The real meaning is more like ‘do what needs to be done—be cruel if you have to.’”

“And the other part?”

“Ni weh sesh? ‘I have no heart.’”

Mal raised a brow. “Your dad sounds like fun.”

Tolya smiled the slightly mad grin that made him look just like his sister. “He was.”

I looked back the way Tamar had gone, my smile drooping. Somewhere beyond the trees and the fields beyond that lay Ryevost. I sent my own prayers with her: _Bring back news of a prince, Tamar. Or at the very least a pirate. We can’t do this alone._

 

* * * * *

 

We laid out bedrolls and divvied up food. Adrik and Nadia started raising a tent while Tolya and Mal scouted the perimeter, setting up stands where guards would be posted. I saw Stigg trying to get Sergei to eat. I’d hoped that being aboveground might bring him around, but though Sergei seemed less panicked, I could still feel tension coming off him in waves. I didn’t know what to do for him. Cartographers didn’t see a lot of trauma. Neither did trackers.

In truth, we were all jumpy. As lovely as it was to lie beneath the trees and see the sky again, it was also overwhelming. Life in the White Cathedral had been miserable, but manageable. Up here, things felt wilder, beyond my control. Danger could come from so many more directions than it had felt like it could underground. Militias and the Darkling’s men roamed these lands. Bandits were likely plentiful given all the recent upheaval. Whether we found Nikolai or not, we were back in this war, and that meant more battles, more lives lost. The world seemed suddenly large again. I wasn’t sure I liked it. Worse was a voice asking me why I was fighting at all. I wasn’t certain I had an answer for it lately.

I looked at our camp: Harshaw already curled up and snoozing with Oncat on his chest; Sergei, pale and watchful; David, back propped against a tree, a book in his hands as Genya fell asleep with her head in his lap; Nadia and Adrik struggling with poles and canvas while Zoya looked on and didn’t bother to help.

 _Despise your heart. Do what’s necessary, even if it’s cruel._ I wanted to. I didn’t want to to feel loss or guilt or worry anymore. I wanted to be hard, calculating. I wanted to be fearless. Underground, that had seemed possible. Here, in this wood, with these people, I was less sure.

Eventually, I must have dozed, because when I woke, it was late afternoon and the sun was slanting through the trees. Tolya was beside me.

“Tamar’s back,” he said.

I bolted upright, fully awake. But the look on Tolya’s face was grim.

“No one approached her?”

He shook his head. I straightened my shoulders but let my eyes slip closed - everyone else was behind me, and I didn’t want anyone to see my disappointment. 

“Does Mal know?”

“No,” said Tolya. “He’s filling canteens at the creek. Harshaw and Stigg are on watch. Should I get them?”

I shook my head. “It can wait. I’ll tell the boss.”

Tamar was leaning against a tree, gulping down water from a tin cup as the others gathered around to hear her report.

“Did you have any trouble?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“And you’re sure you were in the right place?” Tolya said.

“West side of the market square. I got there early, stayed late, checked in with the shopkeeper, watched the same damn puppet show four times. If the post is active, someone should have spoken to me.”

“We could try again tomorrow,” suggested Adrik.

“I should go,” said Tolya. “You were there a long time. If you show up again, people may notice.”

Tamar wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “If I stab the puppeteer, will that draw too much attention?”

“Not if you’re quiet about it,” replied Nadia.

Her cheeks pinked as we all turned to look at her. I’d never heard Nadia crack a joke. She’d mostly been an audience to Marie.

Tamar slipped a dagger from her wrist and twirled it, balancing its point on one fingertip. “I can be quiet,” she said, “and merciful. I may let the puppets live.” She took another gulp of water. “I heard some news too. Big news. West Ravka has declared for Nikolai.”

That got our attention. It was a very good sign that Nikolai was alive and well and making more trouble for the Darkling than anyone in the White Cathedral had realized.

“They’re blocking off the western shore of the Fold,” she continued. “So if the Darkling wants weapons or ammunition—”

“He’ll have to go through Fjerda,” finished Zoya.

But it was bigger than that. This meant the Darkling had lost West Ravka’s coastline, its navy, and the already tenuous access Ravka had to trade.

“Shit,” I breathed.

“That was more or less my reaction,” Tamar said.

“West Ravka now,” Tolya said. “Maybe the Shu Han next.”

“Or Kerch,” put in Zoya.

“Or both!” crowed Adrik.

I could almost see the tendril of hope twisting its way through them. It skipped over me entirely. For every inch of ground gained, the Darkling would hit back three times harder.

 _So why are you fighting him?_ That voice asked me. I swatted it away angrily.

“So now what?” Sergei asked, tugging anxiously at his sleeve. I slipped my hand down into his to still the motion and give him something solid to focus on.

“Let’s wait one more day,” Nadia said.

“I don’t know,” said Tamar. “I don’t mind going back. But there were oprichniki in the square today.”

“No,” I said bluntly. “If they were there, you’re not going back.” Tamar opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. “This isn’t a discussion. He knows what you look like, Tamar. It’s a miracle they didn’t spot you today. But don’t get too comfortable. I’m going to go talk to Mal -- we may need to be ready to leave in the morning.”

The others dispersed while Tamar and Nadia walked off to dig through the rations. Tamar kept bouncing and spinning her knife—definitely showing off, and Nadia didn’t seem to mind. I let a small smile onto my lips.

I picked my way toward the sound of the water, trying to sort through my thoughts. I was relieved that Nikolai was almost certainly alive, but I wasn’t sure what our next move should be.

When I reached the creek, Mal was crouching in the shallows, barefoot and bare-chested, his trousers rolled up to his knees. He was watching the water, his expression focused, but at the sound of my approach, he shot to his feet, already lunging for his rifle.

“Just me,” I said calmly, stepping out of the woods.

He relaxed and dropped back down, eyes returning to the creek. “What are you doing out here?”

For a moment I just watched him. He stayed perfectly still, then suddenly, his hands plunged into the stream and emerged with a wriggling fish. He tossed it back. No point holding on to it when we couldn’t risk making a fire to cook it. I felt a little grin play at my lips.

I’d seen him catch fish this way at Keramzin, even in winter, when Trivka’s pond froze over. He knew just where to break the ice, just where to drop his line or the moment to make his grab. I’d waited on the banks, keeping him company, trying to spot places in the trees where the birds made their nests.

It was different now, the water reflecting spangles of light over the planes of his face, the smooth play of muscle beneath the skin of his torso. I realized I was staring and gave myself a little  
shake. 

“I bring news,” I said. “Tamar’s back.”

He stood, all interest in the fish lost. “And?”

“No one made contact with her. And she said there were oprichniki there.”

Mal sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

“She wanted to go back again tomorrow, but I told her no. His guards will have been told what we all look like.”

He nodded, obviously unhappy. “We’ve wasted enough time, anyway. I don’t know how long it will take us to get south or to find the firebird. All we need is to get stuck in the mountains when the snow comes. And we have to find a safe house for the others.”

“It’s not all bad,” I offer, and I can’t help the smile that spreads over my face. “Apparently West Ravka has declared for Nikolai. What if we took them there? Too dangerous?”

He considered. “That’s a long journey either way, Alina. We’d lose a lot of time.”

“I know, but it’s safer than anywhere this side of the Fold. And it’s another chance to find Nikolai. We need to join forces as soon as we can.”

“Might be less dangerous trekking south on that side too.” He nodded. “All right. We need to get the others ready. I want to leave tonight.”

“Tonight?” I asked in surprise.

“No point waiting around.” 

“I do like the way you think, Mal,” I said lightly.

He waded out of the water, bare toes curling on the rocks. He didn’t actually say “dismissed,” but he might as well have. What else was there to talk about?

I started toward camp, then stopped and turned around. “Ma--” I began, but the words died on my lips.

He had bent to pick up the canteens. His back was to me.

“What the hell is that?” I asked icily.

He whirled, twisting himself around, but it was too late. He opened his mouth.

Before he could get a word out, I snapped, “If you say ‘nothing,’ I will knock your perfect stupid teeth out.”

His mouth clamped shut.

“Turn around,” I ordered sharply.

For a moment, he just stood there. Then I narrowed my eyes at him and he sighed and turned.

A tattoo stretched across his broad back—something like a compass rose, but much more like a sun, the points reaching from shoulder to shoulder and down his spine. It wasn’t new, either-- it was fully healed. He couldn’t have gotten it long after we’d arrived at the White Cathedral.

“Are you out of your mind?” I asked. “Why would you do this?”

He shrugged and his muscles flexed beneath the intricate design.

“You don’t know? You don’t know why you would get a tattoo that’s half as big as you are. A tattoo apparently reserved for my religiously fanatic personal army? Why would you do that to yourself?” I asked shrilly. “If this goes wrong--”

“I have a lot of scars,” he said finally. “This is one I chose.”

I sighed heavily and moved forward to look closer. There were letters worked into the design. _E’ya sta rezku._ I frowned. It looked like ancient Ravkan.

“What does it mean? The writing?”

He said nothing.

“Mal,” I said sharply.

“It’s embarrassing.”

“As embarrassing as getting the thing in the first place?” But sure enough, I could see a flush spreading over his neck. “Tell me,” I said more gently.

He hesitated, then cleared his throat and said, “I am become a blade.”

I am become a blade. Was that what he was? This man whom Grisha followed without argument, whose voice stayed steady when the earth caved in around us, who’d told me I would be a queen? Just how much had he changed during our time apart?

“And what does that mean? To you.”

He sighed and paused a long time. I brushed my fingertips over the letters. He tensed. His skin was still damp from the river.

“It means I won’t forget what I am again. That I won’t fail you again. Ever.” He said it with determination, but his voice was rough.

“Could be worse,” I said absently. “It could say ‘Let’s cuddle’ or ‘I am become ginger pudding.’ Admittedly, this is much less embarrassing.”

He released a surprised bark of laughter, then hissed in a breath as I let my fingertips trail the length of his spine. His fists clenched at his sides. I knew I should stop. I knew I should back away, but I didn’t want to. So I didn’t.

“Who did it?” I asked with false lightness.

“Tolya,” he rasped. I felt my skin flush.

“Did it hurt?” My own voice was huskier.

“Less than it should have.”

I hummed low in reply as I reached the farthest point of the sunburst, right at the base of his spine. I paused, then dragged my finger just above the waist of his trousers, and watched a tiny tremor run up his spine. 

“Alina,” he warned roughly.

I made it back to the base of the tattoo and started to run my fingers slowly back up, pressing lightly into his skin. He snapped around, capturing my hand in a hard grip.

“Don’t,” he said fiercely.

“Mal—”

“I can’t do this. Not if you make me laugh, not if you touch me like that.”

“What—”

Suddenly his head jerked up and he put a finger to his lips.

“Hands above your heads.” The voice came from the shadows of the trees. Mal dove for his rifle and had it at his shoulder in seconds as I raised my hands, but three people were already emerging from the woods—two men and a woman with her hair in a topknot—the muzzles of their weapons trained on us. I thought I recognized them from the convoy we’d seen on the road.

“Put that down,” said a man with a short goatee. “Unless you want to see your girl plugged full of bullets.”

Mal slowly set his rifle back on the rock.

“Come on over,” said the man. “Nice and slow.” He wore a First Army coat, but he looked like no soldier I had ever seen. His hair was long and tangled, kept from his eyes by two messy plaits. He wore belts of bullets across his chest and a stained waistcoat that might have once been red but was now fading to a color somewhere between plum and brown.

“I need my boots,” said Mal.

“Less chance of you running without them.”

“What do you want?” I asked.

“You can start with answers,” the man said. “Town nearby, plenty more comfortable places to hole up. So what are a dozen people doing hiding out in the forest?” He must have seen my reaction, because he said, “That’s right. I found your camp. You deserters?”

“Yes,” said Mal smoothly. “Out of Kerskii.”

The man scratched his cheek. “Kerskii? Maybe,” he said. “But—” He took a step forward. “Oretsev?”

Mal stiffened, then said, “Luchenko?”

“All Saints, I haven’t seen you since your unit trained with me in Poliznaya. What’s it been, ten years, almost?” He turned to the other men. “This little pissant was the best tracker in ten regiments. Famous not long ago, I heard. Never seen anything like it.” He was grinning, but he didn’t lower his rifle. “And now you’re the most famous _deserter_ in all of Ravka.”

“I’m offended,” I muttered to myself.

“Just trying to survive,” Mal said. “A lot like you, I bet.”

“I hear you, brother.” He gestured to me. “This isn’t your usual.”

If I hadn’t had a rifle in my face, he might have known how much the comment got under my skin.

“One more First Army grunt like the rest. Like us, huh?”

“Like us?” Luchenko repeated. He jabbed at me with his gun. “Take off the scarf.”

“I wouldn’t unless you like goiters,” I said lightly.

“Goiters?”

I nodded smoothly. “Made a man puke outright not three weeks ago, and its only gotten uglier since then. You’ll understand my hesitance, surely. Kind man like you. If you were friends with Mal, here, you must be.”

Luchenko gave me another poke. “Go on, girl.”

I clenched my jaw and glanced at Mal. I could see him weighing the options. We were at close range. I could do some serious damage, but not before the militiamen got off a few rounds. I could blind them, but even if that didn’t make them start firing wildly, it could start a firefight, and then what might happen to the people back at camp?

I pulled the scarf from my neck with a smooth tug. Luchenko gave a low whistle.

“Heard you were keeping hallowed company, Oretsev. Looks like we caught ourselves a Saint.” He cocked his head to one side. “Thought she’d be taller. And prettier. Bind them both.”

Again, I looked sideways at Mal. He wanted me to act, I could feel it. But what about the other Grisha?

“You know,” I said, “if you’re really interested in making money, you ought to just take us back yourselves.”

“Come again, little girl?” Luchenko asked.

“All the people you obviously have back at our camp, with the refugees. Do you really want to split the reward with all of them? You’ve got guns. Not much even I or the famous Mal Oretsev can do about that. Why not just leave with us now?”

“Some Saint, eh?” He said to his companions. “Whatever it is you’re trying to do here, I ain’t stabbing my people in the back.” He nodded and the woman started to secure my wrists with rope.

“Ah, loyalty,” I said wistfully. “Even more beautiful than it is rare. But you know, I’ve gotten to know the Darkling pretty well. Did you know that he’s worse than _every single_ rumor says? In fact, I can make you a promise. He’ll pay you the reward from me. Then he’ll kill every one of you for the presumption.”

Luchenko paled, but he hid it well behind false brovado. “Now what sense does that make, eh?”

I laughed. “What sense does it need to make when he’s the King of Ravka and the most powerful Grisha in the world? The people we’re traveling with are sick and weak. We were getting them to safety before heading off on our own world-saving adventures. Now I was in the military for years. I don’t expect you to have much national loyalty. But if you agree to let our people go, I give you my word I’ll make sure you live through the exchange of passing me over.”

Luchenko was seriously considering it. “What about you, Oretsev, eh? Your friend the Sun Summoner here a liar?”

“Almost exclusively,” he said, his voice matching mine for lightness. “But not this time. I’ve met the man more than once. He’s psychotic.”

His companions darted a glance to him. His eyes twitched as he considered, but eventually he shook his head. “I’ll take my chances.”

The woman headed toward Mal.

He sighed and held his hands out. “Can I at least put my shirt on?” he asked.

“No,” she said with a leer. “I like the view.”

I hid an angry twitch. “Suit yourself. But the march to impending death is going to be a painfully slow one. Did you see the big guy, the Shu? He’s got gout.”

Luchenko snorted derisively and laughed. “Sure he does, your holiness. Life’s a funny thing, isn’t it?” he said philosophically as they marched us into the woods at gunpoint. “All I ever wanted was a drop of luck to flavor my tea. Now I’m drowning in it. The Darkling will empty his coffers to have the two of you delivered to his door.”

“You’re not really a forward thinker, are you, Luchenko?” I asked rhetorically.

“Big talk from a girl with a rifle at her back.”  
“Consider this, then: as much as the Darkling wants me, or more to the point as much as he’s willing to _pay_ for me - before your immediate dismemberment, mind - how interested do you think Fjerda or the Shu Han will be when they know I’m the Darkling’s ticket to invading and conquering them? Or how about Nikolai Lantsov? He’d empty Ravka’s coffers to buy the salvation of the country.”

“Lantsov?” Luchenko said. “If he has a brain in his head, he’s rusticating somewhere warm with a pretty girl on his knee. If he’s even alive.”

I swallowed around a shot of grief and dread at the idea, and went on lightly, “Then let’s go back to that math question, shall we? How many men do you have?”

Luchenko glanced over his shoulder and wagged his finger at me like a schoolteacher. It had been worth a try.

“All I mean,” I continued innocently, “is that you could auction me off to the highest bidder and keep all those companions you’re so fond of fat and happy for the rest of their days. In fact, have you ever heard of Sturmhond? Of course you have, he’s famous. Believe it or not, I met him once. I bet you could get him to broker the deal. Be the go-between.”

“As much as I wish she’d shut up,” the woman with the topknot said pointedly, “I like the way she thinks.”

“Don’t get greedy, Ekaterina,” Luchenko said. “We aren’t ambassadors or diplomats. The bounty on that girl’s head will buy us all passage through the border. Maybe I’ll catch a ship out of Djerholm. Or maybe I’ll just bury myself in blondes for the rest of my days.”

The unsavory image of Luchenko cavorting with a bunch of curvy Fjerdans was driven from my mind as we entered the clearing. Luchenko hadn’t been bluffing: my Grisha had been rounded up at its center and were surrounded by a circle of nearly thirty armed militiamen. Tolya was bleeding heavily from what looked like a bad blow to the head. Harshaw had been on watch, and one glance at him told me he’d been shot. He was pale, swaying on his feet, clutching the wound at his side and panting as Stigg supported him and Oncat yowled.

“See?” said Luchenko. “With this windfall, I don’t need to worry about the highest bidder. Big guy did surprisingly well for someone with gout.”

I stepped in front of him, keeping my voice as low as I could. “Let them go, Luchenko,” I said. “You aren’t the only one who cares about their people.”

“And?”

I swallowed the bolt of rage that coursed through me. Threats would get me nowhere. “And if you turn them over to the Darkling, they’ll be tortured. The only thing they’ve done wrong is fight for Ravka against the tyrant who’s taken it over. I will get you more than enough reward to keep you buried in those blondes you were talking about.”

His smile made his answer clear.

“Fine,” I snapped. “Then at least consider the fact that living prisoners are more valuable than cadavers. At least untie me long enough that I can see to my friend’s injury.” And so I can mow down your militia with a flick of my wrist. “I’ve been out of the sun for months, I’m weak as a damn kitten.”

Ekaterina narrowed her eyes. “Don’t do it,” she said. “Have one of her bloodletters take care of him.” She gave me a jab in the back and steered us into the group with the others. I almost wheeled around and hit her in the head with both hands.

“Spy that collar?” Luchenko asked of the crowd. “We have the Sun Summoner!”

There were exclamations and a few whoops from the rest of the militia. “So start thinking about how you’re going to spend all of the Darkling’s money.”

They cheered. I seethed.

“Why not ransom her to Nikolai Lantsov?” said a soldier from somewhere near the back of the circle. Now that I was in the middle of the clearing, there seemed to be even more of them.

“Lantsov? You sound like the Saint, here.” Luchenko said. “Lantsov either dead, or long gone.”

“He’s alive,” said someone.

Luchenko spat. “Makes no matter to me.”

“And to your purses?” I asked.

“Honestly, I’d rather sell you lot to the Darkling. What have the Lantsovs ever done for me, eh? No land, no life, just a uniform and a gun. Doesn’t matter if it’s the Darkling on the throne or some useless Lantsov, but if I can stick it to one of them by giving you to the Darkling, I will.”

“I saw the prince when I was in Os Alta,” said Ekaterina. “He’s not bad looking.”

“Not bad looking?” said another voice. “He’s damnably handsome.”

Luchenko scowled. “Since when—”

“Brave in battle, smart as a whip.” Now the voice seemed to be coming from above us. Luchenko craned his neck, peering into the trees. “An excellent dancer,” said the voice. “Oh,” it said, dropping and turning serious, “and an even better shot.”

“Who—” Luchenko never got to finish. A blast rang out, and a tiny black hole appeared between his eyes.

I gasped. “No. That’s imposs--”

“Don’t say it,” groaned Mal.

“Nikolai!” I cried, a wide smile breaking over my face.

Then chaos erupted.


	7. Edge

Gunfire shattered the air around us, and Mal knocked me from my feet. I landed with my face in the mulch of the forest floor and felt his body shielding mine.

“Stay down!” he yelled.

I twisted my head to the side and saw the Grisha forming a ring around us. Harshaw was on the ground, but Stigg had his flint in hand, and flames shot through the air. Tamar and Tolya had charged into the fray. Zoya, Nadia, and Adrik had their hands up, and leaves lifted in gusts from the forest floor, but it was hard to tell friend from foe in the tangle of armed men.

There was a sudden thump beside us as someone swung down from the treetops. “What are you two doing barefoot and half naked in the mud?” asked a familiar voice. “Looking for truffles, I hope?”

Nikolai slashed through the bonds on our wrists and yanked me to my feet. “Next time I’ll try getting captured. Just to keep things interesting.” He tossed Mal a rifle. “Sh--”

The words were knocked out of him with an “Oof!” as I plowed into him, wrapping my arms around his middle in what had to pass for a fierce hug in my still-withered state.

I heard him huff in my ear. “Good to see you too, Alina,” he said quietly. Then louder, “Touching though this is, maybe we can save the reunion for later? Bullet holes aren’t terribly conducive to festive moods.”

I pulled back and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, grinning from ear to ear.

A smug look passed over his face. “Shall we?” he said.

I turned and raised my hands to summon. “I can’t tell who’s who!” I protested.

“We’re the side that’s hopelessly outnumbered.”

“Why did I think I missed you?” I asked, turning back to the fray. “I didn’t miss you. You are literally the worst.”

“Too late to take it back now, lovely.”

I made a disgusted sound as Mal shouldered the rifle and took aim.

Unfortunately, Nikolai wasn’t kidding. As the ranks shifted and I got my wits about me, it was easier to distinguish Nikolai’s men by their pale blue armbands. They’d cut a swath through Luchenko’s militia, but even without their leader, the enemy was rallying.

I heard a shout. Nikolai’s men moved forward, driving the Grisha ahead of them. We were being herded.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“This is the part where we run,” Nikolai said pleasantly, but I could see the strain on his dirt-smudged face.

We took off through the trees, trying to keep pace as Nikolai darted through the woods. I was already panting, and I couldn’t tell where we were headed. Toward the creek? The road? I’d lost all sense of direction.

I looked behind me, counting the others, making sure we were together. The Squallers were summoning in tandem, knocking trees from the earth and into the militia’s path. Stigg trailed them, sending up spurts of flame. David had somehow managed to retrieve his pack and staggered beneath its bulk as he ran beside Genya.

“Mal!” I yelled. He turned his head and immediately doubled back to grab the heavy pack.

Tolya had Harshaw thrown over his shoulder, and the weight of the big Inferni was slowing his stride. A soldier was gaining on him, saber drawn. Tamar vaulted onto a fallen trunk, took aim with her pistol, and fired. A second later, the militiaman clutched his chest and crumpled midstride. Oncat darted past the body, fast on Tolya’s heels.

“Where’s Sergei?” I shouted, just as I glimpsed him lagging behind, his expression dazed. Tamar backtracked, dodging falling trees and fire, and forcibly pulled him along. I couldn’t hear what she was yelling, but I doubted it was gentle encouragement.

I stumbled. Mal had caught up to me even under the weight of David’s pack. He gripped my elbow and shoved me forward, turning to squeeze off two shots from his rifle. Then we were pouring into a barley field.

Despite the heat of the late afternoon sun, the field was shrouded in mist. We pelted over the marshy soil until Nikolai shouted, “Here!”

We skidded to a halt, sending up sprays of dirt. Here? We were in the middle of an empty field with nothing but fog for cover and a throng of militiamen hungry for revenge and fortune on our heels.

I heard two shrill whistle blasts. The ground rocked beneath me.

“Hold on tight!” Nikolai said.

“To what?” I cried.

And then we were rising. Cables snapped into place beside us as the field itself seemed to lift. I looked up—the mist was parting, and a massive craft hovered directly over our heads, its cargo hold open. It was some kind of shallow barge, equipped with sails at one end and suspended beneath a huge, oblong bladder.

“What the hell is that?” Mal said.

“The Pelican,” said Nikolai. “Well, a prototype of the Pelican. Trick seems to be getting the balloon not to collapse.”

“And you fixed that, right?”

“For the most part.”

The soil beneath us fell away, and I saw we were standing on a swaying platform made of some kind of metal mesh. We rose higher—ten, then fifteen feet above the ground. A bullet pinged against the metal.

We took up spots at the edge of the platform, clutching the cables while trying to take aim at the mob firing up at us.

“Let’s go!” I shouted. “Why aren’t we getting out of range?”

Nikolai and Mal exchanged a glance.

“They know we have the Sun Saint,” Nikolai said. Mal nodded, snatched up a pistol, and gave Tolya and Tamar a swift nudge.

“What are you doing?” I asked, suddenly panicked.

“We can’t leave survivors,” Mal said. Then he dove from the edge. I shouted, but he tucked into a roll and came up firing.

“Saints take you, I am done with this!” I yelled. Months of people fighting for me. Dying for me. Making decisions for me, taking choices out of my hands. Spilling blood for me. I had had enough.

As Tolya and Tamar followed and Nikolai and his crew tried to lay cover fire from above, I hefted my arms over my head as if to wield a double Cut. Fury and determination filled in the holes created by my fight in the chapel and my months underground.

Light collected over my head in a great, massive emanation. I moved my arms in and it condensed into a tight, bright ball, then exploded outward toward the ground in dozens of fragments. Tiny points of light, each brighter than the high sun, whistled through the air fast as bullets down to the field and went straight through the remaining militia. As a one, they dropped.

Mal looked up, mouth open. I stood at the edge of the platform, my hands and forearms still glowing with power. I swayed. Nikolai yanked me back before I could tip over the edge. I tried not to be sick on him.

One militiaman had survived - he had moved at the last moment, dodging my bullet. He recovered from the sight of what I’d done and broke free, running for the woods, but Mal was on him, knife slicing mercilessly across his throat. _I am become a blade._ And then there was no one left, only bodies in a field.

I stood on the deck, chest heaving, aware of every face turned toward me. Their mouths were hanging open and eyes wide.

“Well?” I croaked, still trying not to fall over. “Get them back up here! What are you waiting for?”

“Come on!” Nikolai called as the platform drifted higher. He tossed down a cable. Mal braced his feet against the ground, holding the rope taut so Tamar and Tolya could shinny up. As soon as the twins were on the platform, Mal hooked his ankle and wrist in the cable and they bent to haul him in.

I sat down heavily, hand on my stomach.

“You look green,” Zoya remarked, her voice a little dazed.

“Never did acclimate to murder,” I managed, putting a hand to my mouth to stem a swell of nausea. “Apparently I need more practice. If only there was a war going on or something,” I finished weakly.

I’d seen the body of the Fjerdan the Darkling had cut in half. I’d burned four men alive to save Ivan, but had refused to look, had shut out their screams. I hadn’t seen them die. This was different. I had watched at least two dozen men and women drop to the dirt. I had seen their faces, I had seen them go limp, and I had seen the light leave their eyes..

Grisha, Nikolai, Mal and Tolya and Tamar, and Nikolai’s crew were all staring at me in shocked silence. Harshaw ways lying to one side, his breath shallow as we rose, in too much pain to be much aware of anything that happened around him. Oncat was standing on his chest, biting at his face.

“. . .What?” I snapped.

“How did you do that?” Adrik breathed.

I shrugged blithely, wishing they’d all find something else to do. “I have a lot of tricks. I kept most of them to myself.” There had been questions as we’d traveled to the White Cathedral about how in the name of all Saints I’d managed to cast us from sight as we fled the Darkling the night of the attack. Was this so different? _Of course it is,_ a voice in my mind hissed. But I didn’t want to listen, I just wanted to feel sick in peace.

“Why didn’t you use that when he was trying to kill us?” Sergei accused, his face nearly white. “You could have saved them! You could have--” he choked the words off.

I paused, then put a hand to the side of my neck self-consciously. “That particular trick was new, actually. The whip you saw that night was a first, too.”

“Whip?” Nikolai asked.

“It was like her Cut,” Mal said, “but flexible. Like a whip.”

Nikolai looked from him to me, then just regarded me in silence, his face unreadable. “. . .Well,” he said. “Well. We should talk about what else you can do. Not now, obviously.”

Stigg moved closer to the edge of the platform and sent fire licking over the bodies in the field. I had thought bullet holes would be easy enough to write off, but my light had gone clean through everyone they’d hit, cauterizing as they went. Wounds like that would give away my presence just as surely as any informant. The ground was peppered with holes from the “bullets” that hadn’t had a mark to hit, too.

Moments later, the platform was hauled up into the Pelican’s cargo hold, and we were under way. When we emerged above deck, the sun was shining off the port side as we climbed into the clouds. Nikolai shouted commands. One team of Squallers manned the giant lozenge of a balloon, while another filled the sails with wind. Tidemakers shrouded the base of the craft in cloud-like mist to keep us from being spotted by anyone on the ground. I recognized some of the rogue Grisha from the days when Nikolai had masqueraded as Sturmhond and Mal and I had been aboard his ship.

This craft was larger and less graceful than the Hummingbird or the Kingfisher. I soon learned that it had been built to transport cargo—shipments of Zemeni weapons that Nikolai was smuggling over the northern and southern borders and occasionally through the Fold. It wasn’t constructed of wood but some lightweight Fabrikator-made substance that sent David into a tizzy. He actually lay down on the deck to get a better view, tapping here and there. “It’s some kind of cured resin, but it’s been reinforced with. . . carbon fibers?”

“Glass,” said Nikolai, looking thoroughly pleased by David’s enthusiasm.

“More flexible!” David said in near ecstasy.

“What can I say?” asked Genya drily. “He’s a passionate man.”

Genya’s presence worried me a little, but Nikolai had never seen her scarred, and he didn’t seem to recognize her. I circulated with Nadia, whispering a few reminders to our Grisha about not using her real name.

When we were done, I leaned my elbows on the railing and peered through the mist at the landscape below—fields painted in the red and gold of autumn, the blue-gray glitter of the river cities and their bustling ports. Such was the mad power of Nikolai that I barely thought twice about the fact that we were flying. I’d been aboard his smaller crafts, and I definitely preferred the feel of the Pelican. There was something stately about it, and the ride was much smoother overall. It might not get you anywhere quickly, but it wouldn’t capsize on a whim either.

From miles beneath the earth to miles above. I could scarcely believe any of it -- that Nikolai had found us, that he was safe, that we were all here. A tide of relief so sharp washed over me that it made my eyes fill.

“First vomit, then tears,” Nikolai said, coming up beside me. “Don’t tell me I’ve lost my touch.”

“I didn’t actually vomit,” I protested with a sniff and hastily blinked my eyes clear. “And I’m just. . . happy you’re alive. Don’t ruin it. Give a girl a minute, at least.”

He smiled in a way that reached his eyes. “Glad to see you too. Word was you’d gone underground, but it was more like you’d vanished completely.”

“I’d like to say I’m flattered you were looking, but then, I know what my power means to Ravka. I think ‘underground’ was an understatement, in any event. Literal, but understated. It did feel like being buried alive, though.”

“Is the rest of your party there?”

“. . . This is it, Nikolai,” I said, sobering.

“You can’t mean—”

“Yes, I can. Our sole healer stayed behind when we left. After him. . . this is all that’s left of the Second Army. The Darkling has his Grisha, and as far as I know, they still vastly outnumber mine. And you have yours, but. . . .” I trailed off.

Nikolai surveyed the deck. Mal and Tolya were deep in conversation with a member of Nikolai’s crew, helping to tie down ropes and maneuver a sail. Someone had found Mal a jacket, but it was too small to button closed and he was still short a pair of boots. David was running his hands over the deck as if he were trying to disappear into it. The others were clustered into little groups: Genya was huddled with Nadia and the other Etherealki. Stigg had gotten stuck with Sergei, who slumped on the deck, his head buried in his hands. Ruslan stood alone at the railing, apparently taking in the view. Tamar was seeing to Harshaw’s wounds as Oncat dug her claws into his leg, her fur standing on end. The tabby obviously didn’t enjoy flying.

“All that remains,” Nikolai repeated.

After a long minute, I asked, “How did you find us?”

“I didn’t, really. Militias have been preying on our smuggling routes. We couldn’t afford to lose another shipment, so I came after Luchenko. Then Tamar was spotted in the square, and when we realized the camp they were moving on was yours, I thought why not get the girl—”

“And the guns?”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

“Thank goodness we had the foresight to be captured.”

“Very quick thinking on your part. I commend you.”

I smiled, but it was a small thing. “How are your parents?”

He snorted and said, “Fine. Bored. There’s little for them to do.” He adjusted the cuff of his coat. “They took Vasily’s loss hard.”

“. . .I’m sorry,” I said. I’d spared little thought for the man, and in truth, for Nikolai’s sake - and Ravka’s - I was glad he was gone. I hadn’t lost a single moment mourning his death. But I was sorry for Nikolai, and of course his parents must miss him.

“He brought it on himself, but I’m surprised to say I’m sorry too.”

I was a little surprised to hear it. But of course part of Nikolai was sad. Vasily had technically been family, and the now-heir was a good person. I wondered what that made me.

“I need to know, Nikolai—did you get Baghra out?”

“At great trouble and with little thanks. You might have warned me about her.”

I couldn’t quite suppress a grin. “She’s a treat, isn’t she?”

“Like a fine plague.” He reached out and tugged on a lock of my white hair. “Bold choice.”

I pushed the loose strands behind my ear with a small, self-conscious smile. “It’s all the fashion underground.”

“Is it?”

“That, and-or I believe someone once told me that the people like a spectacle. Can’t recall who.”

“Smart, whoever it was. And probably very handsome.”

I smiled absently. “It happened during the battle. I’d hoped it might turn back, but it seems to want to stick around. I’m told it goes great with a glow of moonlight. ‘Moon Goddess’ look, Zoya called it. If she could complement it, it must have been something.”

“My cousin Ludovic woke up with a white streak in his hair after he almost died in a house fire. Claimed the ladies found it very dashing. Of course, he also claimed the house fire was set by ghosts, so who can say.”

“He sounds like a very tragic figure. We do tend to swoon over those. Or so I’m told. I’ve never have been prone to much swooning.” The Darkling came to mind, as if a snide exception, but I shoved the thought away with a shake of my head.

Nikolai leaned back on the railing and studied the balloon tethered above us. At first, I’d assumed it was canvas, but now I thought it might be silk coated with rubber. “Alina. . . .” he began. I was so unused to seeing Nikolai ill at ease that it took me a moment to realize he was struggling for words. “Alina, the night the palace was attacked, I did come back.”

Was that what was worrying him? That I thought he’d abandoned me? “I never doubted it,” I said sincerely. “. . .What did you see?”

“The grounds were dark when I flew over. Fires had broken out in a few places. I saw David’s dishes shattered on the roof and the lawn of the Little Palace. The chapel had collapsed. There were nichevo’ya crawling all over it. I thought we might be in trouble, but they didn’t spare the Kingfisher a second look.”

“They were busy,” I said with a hard edge entering my voice. Of course they wouldn’t care about the Kingfisher. Not with their master trapped and dying beneath a heap of rubble.

“I’d hoped there might be some way to retrieve Vasily’s body,” he said. “But it was no good. The whole place was overrun. What happened?”

“The nichevo’ya were already all over the Little Palace when I got there. Almost everyone was dead. Just. . . broken. Torn apart.” I felt my eyes go distant. “One of the dishes was down when we made it to the roof, and a team of Grisha and soldiers were trying to fight the nichevo’ya off.” I dug my nails into the rail of the ship, scratching little half-moons. “We managed one shot before they broke our line and we had to run. The Grisha here, they’re the only ones who survived - a few of them had managed to barricade themselves in the main hall. We lost one after we escaped that night. The rest were slaughtered.” I paused, looking out over the painted land. “We never had a chance.” I remembered the main hall streaked with blood, the bodies strewn over the roof, the floor, the stairs—broken heaps of blue, red, and purple.

“And the Darkling?”

“I tried to kill him.”

“As one does.”

“I almost succeeded.”

“A step in the right direction, decidedly.”

“By killing myself, too.”

“. . .I see.”

“I ordered Tolya to take Mal, to get everyone out. He ‘fought his way free,’” I scoffed, “and dragged me off when I was too weak to fight back. The Darkling and I would both be dead and this would all be over, if not for him.” I felt suddenly bitter. Until this moment, it hadn’t occurred to me to be _angry_ at Mal for what he’d done. “So I brought the chapel down,” I said quietly.

“You—”

“The nichevo’ya did, technically. But I ordered them to.”

“You can command them?”

Already, I could see him calculating a possible advantage. Always the strategist.

“Just the ones I create by sucking the power and life out of both of us at the same time, I think. Which takes skin to skin contact. So maybe don’t bank the funeral on that just yet.” Something in me shifted uncomfortably at the suggestion of the Darkling’s funeral. I shoved it away. Was it me? Was it the tie between us? Was there a difference anymore?

“Noted,” he said glumly. “But once you’ve found the firebird?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I admitted, “but. . . .” I hesitated. I’d never spoken this thought aloud. Among Grisha it would be considered heresy. Still, I wanted to say the words, wanted Nikolai to hear them. I hoped he might understand the edge it would give us, even if he couldn’t grasp the hunger that drove me. “I’m wondering if I can’t build my own army.”

“Soldiers of light?”

“That’s the idea.”

Nikolai was watching me. I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “You once told me that merzost isn’t like the Small Science, that it carries a high price.” I nodded. “How high, Alina?”

“. . . Pieces of your life. Pieces of your soul. Maybe both.”

I thought of a girl’s body crushed beneath a mirrored dish, her goggles askew, of Marie torn open in Sergei’s arms, of Genya huddling in her shawl. I thought of church walls, like pieces of bloody parchment, crowded with the names of the dead. It wasn’t just righteous fury that guided me, though. It was my need for the firebird—banked, but always burning.

“It doesn’t matter, though,” I said quietly but firmly. “It’s my price to pay, and I’ll pay it. This has to stop.”

Nikolai considered this, then said, “Very well.”

My brows raised. “That’s it? You’re not going to try to talk me out of it? No dire warnings? Impassioned pleas for my well-being?”

“Saints, Alina. I hope you weren’t looking to me to be the voice of reason. I keep to a strict diet of ill-advised enthusiasm and heartfelt regret.”

“Lately it’s hard to remember why I used to want to punch you in the face every time I thought about you.”

“I knew you couldn’t resist this thing between us forever." He paused, his grin fading. “I’m truly sorry for the soldiers you lost, and that I didn’t do more that night.”

Below us, I could see the beginnings of the white reaches of the permafrost and, far beyond, the shape of mountains in the distance. “There was nothing you could have done, Nikolai. If you think otherwise, you’re a fool. And you are no fool.” It was harsh, but it was also the truth. Against the Darkling’s shadow soldiers, everyone—no matter how brilliant or resourceful—was close to helpless. “If you had tried, you would have just gotten yourself killed. You still might,” I said quietly. The gentle wind pulled strands of hair out from behind my ear. They were softening and strengthening by the day.

“You never know,” said Nikolai. “I’ve been busy. I might have some surprises in store for the Darkling yet.”

“If they involve you dressing up as a volcra and jumping out of a cake, you have my full support.”

“Well, now you’ve ruined the surprise.” He pushed off the railing. “I need to pilot us over the border.”

“The border?”

“We’re heading into Fjerda.”

“Fj-- . . .Huh. Well, I mean, of course I can see the logic in surrounding ourselves with as many people who want to kill us all horribly as possible. It’ll confuse them, right? Make them fight over us? It'll be like the Belyanoch dance we had my fifth year in the army all over again. No, plunging into enemy territory is definitely a sound plan,” I finished with a sardonic nod.

“These are my skies,” Nikolai said with a wink. Then he strolled across the deck, whistling a familiar, off-key tune.

I’d missed him. The way he talked. The way he attacked a problem. The way he brought hope and brightness with him wherever he went. For the first time in months, I felt the knot in my chest ease. For the first time in months, I thought that maybe, just possibly, we might truly be able to pull this off.

Once we crossed the border, I’d thought we might head for the coast or even West Ravka, but soon we were tacking toward the mountain range I’d glimpsed. From my days as a mapmaker, I knew they were the northernmost peaks of the Sikurzoi, the range that stretched across most of Ravka’s eastern and southern border. The Fjerdans called them the Elbjen, the Elbows, though as we drew closer, it was hard to tell why. They were massive, snowcapped things, all white ice and gray rock. They would have dwarfed the Petrazoi. If those were elbows, I didn’t want to know what they were attached to.

We climbed higher. The air grew frigid as we drifted into the thick cloud cover that hid the steepest peaks. When we emerged above it, I released an awed gasp. Here, the few mountaintops tall enough to pierce the clouds seemed to float like islands in a white sea. The tallest looked like it was clutched by huge fingers of frost, and as we arced around it, I saw shapes in the ice. A narrow stone staircase zigzagged up the cliff face. What lunatic would make that climb? And for what possible purpose?

We rounded the mountain, drawing closer and closer to the rock. Just as I was about to call out in panic, we rolled hard to the right. Suddenly, we were between two frozen walls. The Pelican swerved and we entered an echoing stone hangar.

Nikolai really _had_ been busy. We crowded at the railing, gaping at the hectic bustle around us. Three other crafts were docked in the hangar: a second cargo barge like the Pelican, the sleek Kingfisher - I smiled, half sad, half happy, to see it - and a similar vessel that bore the name Bittern.

“It’s a kind of heron,” said Mal, pulling on a pair of borrowed boots. “They’re smaller. Sneaky.” An appreciative grin tugged at one corner of my lips. Like the Kingfisher, the Bittern had double hulls, though they were flatter and wider at the base, and equipped with what looked like sled runners. Clever.

Nikolai’s crew threw lines over the Pelican’s rail, and workers ran forward to catch them, stretching them taut and tying them to steel hooks secured in the hangar’s walls and floor. We touched down with a thud and a deafening screech as hull scraped against stone.

David frowned disapprovingly. “Too much weight.”

“Don’t look at me,” said Tolya.

As soon as we came to a halt, Tolya and Tamar leapt from the railings, already calling out greetings to crewmen and workers they must have recognized from their time aboard the Volkvolny. I felt good watching it. The rest of us waited for the gangway to be lowered, then shuffled off the barge.

“Impressive,” Mal said.

I shook my head in wonder and a little laugh escaped me. “How in the nine hells does he do it?”

“Want to know my secret?” Nikolai asked from behind us. We both jumped. He leaned in, looked from left to right, and whispered loudly, “I have a lot of money.”

I snorted rolled my eyes.

“No, really,” he protested. “A _lot_ of money.”

Nikolai gave orders to the waiting dockworkers for repairs and then led our ragged, wide-eyed band to a doorway in the rock.

“Everybody in,” he said. Confused, we crowded into the little rectangular room. The walls looked like they were made of iron. Nikolai pulled a gate closed across the entry.

“You’re on my foot,” Zoya complained grumpily to someone, but we were all wedged in so tightly it was hard to tell who she was angry at.

“What is this?” I asked.

In answer, Nikolai dropped a lever, and we let loose a collective scream, hands darting out to grab anything in reach as the room shot upward, taking my stomach with it.

We jolted to a halt. My gut slammed back down to my shoes, and the gate slid open. Nikolai stepped out, doubled over with laughter. “I never tire of that.”

I glowered at him through incredulity. “If you wanted me to hit you again, you could have just asked,” I snapped.

We piled out of the box as fast as we could—all except for David, who lingered to fiddle with the lever mechanism.

Despite myself, I found I was grinning wider than I had in months as my stomach settled. “I absolutely hate you. But I have to admit that was kind of incredible.” I looked down at the distance we had just risen in a matter of moments. “What is it? How did you come up with--ugh, stupid question. Nevermind. Stuff it away with your over-inflated ego.”

“Be still, my heart, Alina, I did miss you.”

“Ass.”

“Careful there,” Nikolai called suddenly, looking back at David. “The trip down is bumpier than the trip up.”

Genya took David’s arm and yanked him clear.

“I forgot how often I want to stab you.” The effect was dulled somewhat by my inability to stifle my laugh.

“So I haven’t lost my touch.” He leaned in toward me and glanced at Genya, saying quietly, “What happened to her?”

“The Darkling,” I replied flatly. “What else?”

“Please tell us there are stairs,” Sergei said shakily.

“Of course there are stairs, but they’re less entertaining. And once you’ve dragged yourself up and down four flights of them enough times, you’ll find yourself far more open-minded.”

I took a good look around, and anything I might have contributed died on my tongue. If the hangar had been impressive, then this was simply miraculous.

It was the biggest room I’d ever been in—twice, maybe three times as wide and as tall as the domed hall in the Little Palace. It wasn’t even a room, I realized. We were standing at the top of a hollowed-out mountain.

Now I understood what I had seen as we approached aboard the Pelican. The frost fingers were actually enormous bronze columns cast in the shapes of people and creatures. They towered above us, bracketing huge panels of glass that looked out on the ocean of cloud below. The glass was so clear that it gave the space an eerie sense of openness, as if a wind might blow through and send me tumbling into the nothingness beyond. My heart started to hammer.

“Deep breaths,” Nikolai said. “It can be overwhelming at first.”

I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t get my mouth to work.

The room was teeming with people. Some bunched in groups where drafting tables and bits of machinery had been set up. Others were marking crates of supplies in a kind of makeshift warehouse. Another area had been set aside for training; soldiers sparred with dulled swords while others summoned Squaller winds or cast Inferni flame. Through the glass, I saw terraces protruding in four directions, giant spikes like compass points—north, south, east, west. Two had been set aside for target practice. It was hard not to compare it to the damp, cloistered caverns of the White Cathedral. Everything here was bursting with life and hope. It all bore Nikolai’s stamp. It made something in my chest squeeze.

“What is this place?” I breathed as we slowly made our way through.

“It was originally a pilgrimage site, back when Ravka’s borders extended farther north,” Nikolai replied. “The Monastery of Sankt Demyan.”

Sankt Demyan of the Rime. At least that explained the winding staircase we’d glimpsed. Only faith or fear could get anyone to make that climb. I remembered Demyan’s page from the Istorii Sankt’ya. He’d performed some kind of miracle near the northern border. I was pretty sure he’d been stoned to death.

“A few hundred years ago, it was turned into an observatory,” Nikolai continued. He pointed to a hulking brass telescope tucked into one of the glass niches. “It’s been abandoned for over a century. I heard about it during the Halmhend campaign, but it took some finding. Now we just call it the Spinning Wheel.”

Then it struck me: the bronze columns were constellations—the Hunter with his drawn bow, the Scholar bent in study, the Three Foolish Sons, huddled together, trying to share a single coat. The Bursar, the Bear, the Beggar. The Shorn Maiden wielding her bone needle. Twelve in all: the spokes of the Spinning Wheel.

“You’re so brilliant it’s disgusting,” I said, still gazing open-mouthed around us.

I had to crane my neck all the way back to get a view of the glass dome high above us. The sun was setting and through it, I could see the sky turning a lush, deep blue. If I squinted, I could just make out a twelve-pointed star at the dome’s center.

“There’s so much glass,” I whispered, my head reeling.

“But no frost,” Mal noted.

“Heated pipes,” David said. “They’re in the floor. Probably embedded in the columns too.”

It _was_ hotter in this room. Still cold enough that I wouldn’t want to part with my coat or my hat, but my feet were warm through my boots.

“There are boilers beneath us,” Nikolai said. “The whole place runs on melted snow and steam heat. The problem is fuel, but I’ve been stockpiling coal.”

“For how long?”

“Two years. We started repairs when I had the lower caverns turned into hangars. It’s not an ideal vacation spot, but sometimes you just want to get away.”

I was impressed, but also unsettled. Being around Nikolai was always like this, watching him shift and change, revealing secrets and plans as he went. He reminded me of the wooden nesting dolls I’d played with as a child. Except instead of getting smaller, he just kept getting grander and more mysterious. Tomorrow, he’d probably tell me he’d built a pleasure palace on the moon. _Tough to get to, but quite a view,_ he’d say.

“Have a look around,” Nikolai said to us. “Get a feel for the place. Nevsky’s unloading cargo in the hangar, and I need to take care of repairs to the hull.” I remembered Nevsky. He’d been a soldier in Nikolai’s old regiment, the Twenty-Second, and not particularly fond of Grisha.

“. . .I’d like to see Baghra,” I said.

“You’re sure about that?”

I barked a dry laugh. “Are you kidding? That woman hates me to the very center of her cold, iron heart. So yes, absolutely certain.”

“I’ll take you to her. Good practice should I ever need to walk someone to the gallows. And after you’ve had your fill of punishment, you and Oretsev can join me for dinner.”

“Thank you,” Mal said smoothly, “but I should look into outfitting our expedition to retrieve the weapon.” _Firebird,_ he meant.

There’d been a time, not long ago, that Mal would have bristled at the thought of leaving me alone with Nikolai, but the prince had the grace not to register surprise. “Of course. I’ll send Nevsky to you when he’s done. He can help arrange your accommodations as well.” He clapped a hand on Mal’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Oretsev.”

The smile Mal returned was genuine. “You too. Thanks for the rescue.”

“Everyone needs a hobby.”

“I thought yours was preening.”

“Two hobbies.”

They clasped hands briefly, then Mal bowed and moved off with the group. I watched the exchange with a slight crease between my brows.

Nikolai leaned in. “Should I be offended that he doesn’t want to dine with us? I set an excellent table, and I so rarely drool.”

“. . . No,” I uttered quietly, my eyes following Mal’s retreating back. “You shouldn’t.” Then I turned to Nikolai. “Baghra,” I prodded.

“He was impressive in that barley field,” Nikolai continued, putting a hand on my lower back steer me the way we’d come. I tried not to stiffen, but wasn’t entirely successful. This was my expected path now, right? He removed his hand without comment. “Better with a sword and gun than I’ve ever seen him.”

I remembered what the Apparat had said: _Men fight for Ravka because the King commands it._ Mal had always been a gifted tracker, but he’d been a soldier because we were all soldiers, because we had no choice. What was he fighting for now? I thought of him diving from the mesh platform, his knife moving across the militiaman’s throat. _I am become a blade._

“He’s motivated,” I muttered. “There’s not much to do underground besides train, anyway. The Apparat kept all my people away from me, separated us as soon as he could.”

“The Apparat?” Being Nikolai, there wasn’t nearly enough surprise on his face. He had probably put the pieces together weeks ago.

“It’s a long story, and I have no desire to tell it now.”

“Hm. Well, I can think of a few more interesting ways to spend one’s time, underground or otherwise.”

“Nice innuendo. Very classy. Did I say I missed you? Because if I did, I’m a filthy liar.”

“What a dirty mind you have. I was referring to puzzles and the perusal of edifying texts.”

“Of course you were.” I eyed the iron box as we neared it. “You mentioned something about the ride down being more bumpy?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I killed it to make room for duty and suicidal heroism.”

“You are a ray of sunshine, as ever, Alina.”

“Ray of sunshine. Sun Summoner. Not one of your better jokes. Did you get sloppy while I was on vacation?”

“Joke? Me? I take things far too seriously for that. And we’ll take the stairs, if you don’t mind. You still look a little peaky.”

“And beautiful. What with my ghostly hair and withered appearance.” I huffed a dry laugh. “You should have seen me a week ago, when we set out. I hadn’t been able to summon in months, and after the fight in the chapel. . . well. It was all I could do to walk under my own power, and that much took a month. My hair was like dry grass and spider silk. What I did on the Pelican should have been effortless. Instead, you had to keep me from pitching over the side.”

“Withered? I have no idea what you’re talking about, you’re as lovely as ever. And I have no doubt you’ll be hale and violent in no time. You’re a remarkably strong woman.”

“Ass.”

“Do you always accept compliments so well?”

“Only transparently insincere ass-kissing ones.”

“Noted.”

I snorted.

We descended a broad, distinctly stationary set of stone steps. Nikolai led me through a curving passage, and I shrugged off my coat, beginning to sweat. The floor directly below the observatory was considerably warmer, and as we passed a wide doorway, I spotted a maze of steaming boilers that glowed and hissed in the dark. Even the ever-polished Nikolai had a fine mist of perspiration on his elegant features.

We were most definitely headed to Baghra’s lair. The woman never seemed to be able to keep warm. I wondered if it was because she so rarely used her power. I’d certainly never been able to shake the chill of the White Cathedral.

Nikolai stopped at an iron door. “Last chance to run.”

“Don’t tempt me,” I said dryly. “Go on. Save yourself while there’s still time. Flee.”

He sighed. “Remember me as a hero.” He knocked lightly on the door, and we entered.

I had the disconcerting sense that we’d stepped right back into Baghra’s hut at the Little Palace. There she sat in a tiny room, huddled by a tile oven, dressed in the same faded kefta, her hand resting on the cane she’d taken such pleasure in whacking me with so regularly. The same servant boy was reading to her, and I felt a burst of shame when I realized I hadn’t even thought to ask if he’d made it out of Os Alta. The boy left off as Nikolai cleared his throat.

“Baghra,” Nikolai said, “how are you this evening?”

“Still old and blind,” she snapped.

“And charming,” Nikolai drawled. “Never forget charming.”

“Whelp.”

“Hag.”

“What do you want, pest?”

“I’ve brought someone to visit,” Nikolai said brightly, giving me a push.

Why was I so nervous?

“. . .Hi, Baghra,” I managed.

She paused, motionless. “The little Saint,” she murmured, “returned to save us all.”

“. . .You know, if you say that too many more times I might start letting it go to my head.” _A nice foil for your son,_ I didn’t say.

“She did almost die trying to rid us of your cursed spawn,” Nikolai said lightly. I blinked owlishly at him.

“When did you figure it out?” I asked him in an undertone.

He turned a crooked grin on me, but what his reply would have been, I didn’t know - Baghra didn’t wait for it.

“Couldn’t even manage martyrdom right, could you?” She waved me in. “Come in and shut the door, girl, you’re letting the heat out.” I couldn’t help the grin at this familiar refrain.

“You have to admit I’m consistent, if nothing else,” I said conversationally.

“Hmph. You’re worse when this pest is around,” she said, jabbing her cane in Nikolai’s direction.

“He brings out the best in people. You’ve noticed, I’m sure. You're practically glowing.”

She made a low growling noise. “You,” she spat in Nikolai’s direction. “Go somewhere you’re wanted.”

“That’s hardly limiting,” he said. “Alina, I’ll be back to fetch you for dinner, but should you grow restless, do feel free to run screaming from the room or take a dagger to her. Whatever seems most fitting at the time.”

“Are you still here?” snapped Baghra.

“I go, but hope to remain in your heart,” he said solemnly. Then he winked at me and disappeared.

“Wretched boy.”

“. . .You like him,” I said, and I couldn’t decide if I was more delighted, or disbelieving.

Baghra scowled. “Greedy. Arrogant. Takes too many risks.”

 _That doesn’t sound like anyone we know,_ I thought wryly. “You almost sound concerned.”

“You like him too, little Saint,” she said with a leer in her voice.

“Of course I do. He’s brilliant, charming, ingenious, determined, and kind. Especially when he might be cruel. It’s almost novel at this point. Though if you tell him I said any of that, his head might literally explode, and then we’re all doomed for certain. He could almost have this whole rebellion without me.”

“He laughs too much.”

“Yes, a deplorable trait if ever I heard one. I’m sure you worry that it’ll be contagious if you spend too much time around him. A smile on your face is a horrifying prospect, indeed.”

“You’ve gotten arrogant,” she growled.

“I’ve always been arrogant," I replied lightly. "Or did you think I argued with you almost every day in training because I was a masochist and liked getting hit with that tree branch you call a cane?”

She thumped it on the floor. “Boy, go fetch me something sweet.” I felt my brows go up in surprise. Who would have thought Baghra had a sweet tooth?

The servant hopped to his feet and set down his book. I caught him as he raced past me for the door. “Just a moment, Misha,” I said.

Delight spread over his face. But there was a weary look under it that no child should wear. “You remember me?”

“Hmph,” Baghra said quietly.

“Of course I do,” I smiled, and it almost felt like the old thing. “You like rabbits.”

His smile was in danger of splitting his face. He was in desperate need of a haircut, but otherwise looked well enough.

“How old are you now?” I asked.

“Eight.”

“Seven,” snapped Baghra.

“Almost eight,” he conceded.

He was small for his age. “And you remember me, too?”

With a tentative hand he reached out and touched the antlers at my neck, then nodded solemnly. “Sankta Alina,” he breathed. His mother had taught him that I was a Saint, and apparently Baghra’s contempt hadn’t convinced him otherwise. “Do you know where my mother is?” he asked.

“. . .I don’t. I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. He didn’t even look surprised. Maybe that was the answer he’d come to expect. “How are you finding it here?”

His eyes slid to Baghra, then back to me.

“It’s all right,” I said with a reassuring smile. “Be honest.”

“There’s no one to play with.”

I felt a little pang, remembering the lonely days at Keramzin before Mal had arrived, the older orphans who’d had little interest in another scrawny refugee. “That might change soon. Until then, would you like to learn to fight?”

“Servants aren’t allowed to fight,” he said, but I could see he liked the idea.

I leaned in as if to tell him a secret. “Well Misha, the nice thing about being the Sun Summoner is that I can give almost-eight year-old servants permission to do things like that.” I ignored Baghra’s snort. “Go find a man named Malyen Oretsev. Tell him ‘Alina said to tell you she sent me personally.’ He’ll see about getting you a practice sword.”

Before I could blink, the boy was tearing out of the room, practically tripping over his own feet in his excitement, and I wa surprised to realize I was suppressing a laugh.

When he was out of sight, my smile fell away. “His mother?” I asked.

“A servant at the Little Palace.” Baghra gathered her shawl closer around her. “It’s possible she survived. There’s no way of knowing.”

So she was likely dead, then. The Darkling wasn’t cruel to those he didn’t feel deserved it or warranted it, but I doubted he had ordered his Grisha or nichevo’ya to take special care. The goal had been too important. “How is he taking it all?”

“How do you think? Nikolai had to drag him screaming onto that accursed craft. Though that may just have been good sense. At least he cries less now.”

As I moved the book to sit beside her, I glanced at the title. Religious parables. Poor kid. Then I turned my attention to Baghra. She’d put on a bit of weight, sat straighter in her chair. Getting out of the Little Palace had done her good, even if she’d just found another hot cave to hide in.

“You look better.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said sourly. “Did you mean what you said to Misha? Are you thinking of bringing the students here?” The vulnerability of Keramzin had been nagging at me for months, and now I was in a position to do something about it.

“It would be safer for them than anywhere else.” I paused. “If Nikolai agrees, would you consider teaching them?”

“Hmph,” she said with a scowl. “Someone has to. Who knows what garbage they’ve been learning with that bunch.”

I smiled. Progress, indeed. But it vanished when Baghra rapped me on the knee with her stick. “Ow!” I yelled, but half of it was a laugh at how familiar it was. The woman’s aim was uncanny.

“Give me your wrists.”

“I don’t have the firebird.”

She lifted her stick again, but I flinched out of the way. “All right, all right!” I took her hand and gently laid it on my bare wrist. As she groped nearly up to my elbow, I asked, “How does Nikolai know you’re the Darkling’s mother?”

“He asked. He’s more observant than the rest of you fools.” She must have been satisfied that I wasn’t somehow hiding the third amplifier, because she dropped my wrist with a grunt.

“Yes, he is,” I said quietly. “And a good deal more brazen. You just told him?”

Baghra sighed. “These are my son’s secrets,” she said wearily. “It’s not my job to keep them any longer.” I found myself smiling a little at the idea of her taking weight off her shoulders. Then she leaned back. “So you failed to kill him once more.”

“. . . I came close, this time. I was pried away from him once I was too weak to fight back. Otherwise, the world would be free of both of us now.”

She paused. “I cannot say I’m sorry. In the end, I’m even weaker than you, little Saint.”

“. . . I really doubt that,” I said softly, thinking of my visit to him in the throne room, and the ache it had revealed. Perhaps I would never learn. “I have news, though, if you're finding yourself missing new things to be furious at me for.” I hesitated. “I used merzost.”

Her shadow eyes flew open. “You what?”

“Not by myself, and I couldn’t now if I tried. It’s how I almost killed us. I used our connection, the one that began with the collar, to control his power. I created nichevo’ya through him. It drew from both of us.”

Baghra’s hands scrambled for mine. She seized my wrists in a painful grip. “You must not do this, girl. You must not trifle with this kind of power. This is what created the Fold. Only misery can come of it.”

“Is a world free of powers like ours not a good thing?” I asked quietly. “I have three options. Kill myself and make him wait for another Sun Summoner," which I had now technically failed to do twice, "fight him and watch the world continue to be rent as a direct consequence, _hoping_ our side can win in the end, or join him. What’s your preference?” I asked flatly.

“You know my preference.”

“Yes, well,” I snapped, “given that traveling back in time isn’t a Grisha ability, perhaps you could stop harping on that woman’s failure and work with this one’s instead. Like it or hate it, I’m all you have,” I finished sharply.

She _hmph’d,_ and I suddenly felt that the next time she made the noise, I would pitch her into the fire.

“You’d be a fool to join him,” She said eventually.

I shrugged. “He’s only made our connection stronger since he put the collar on me. I sealed it with what I did to us at the Little Palace. Baghra. . . we can talk to each other, touch one another, no matter how far apart we are.”

Her blackened eyes went wide.

“He did it to me while I was at the Little Palace. There was hardly a day he didn’t come. I thought I was losing my mind.” I paused, then admitted, “I don’t know what to think anymore.” It was the first time I had spoken the words out loud. “About him, about what’s right for Ravka, about anything. I’m not certain I even know why I’m fighting him anymore, sometimes. He’s brutal, yes, but not to the people. And if he could stop the wars forever. . . .

“Every dynasty, every empire, and every stability the people have under them, started with a bloody war, a ruthless bid for power. And something seems different about him. Every time I fight him and win, oddly. . . he almost seems to respect me more.”

She made a harsh sound that was almost a laugh. “The boy only wants one thing, girl. Power. If he tells you otherwise, he’s lying. And if you believe him, you’re a fool, and there is no hope for you.”

I remembered the crease between his brows when I’d held my hand to his face.

“Is there nothing left in him that’s human, Baghra?” I asked in a near-whisper.

She turned her face toward the fire. “He gave up his humanity long ago. He gave it up to be what I made him.”

The only sound was the crackling of the fire in the woodstove. “I may not have a choice, then. We know the location of the firebird, or at least we think we do. Once we find it—”

“You’ll sacrifice another ancient life for the sake of your own power.”

“I'm not your son, Baghra,” I said firmly. “Sometimes power is the point, and sometimes it's the tool. One does not have to be the same as the other. I won’t deny that I feel incomplete without the second fetter. Whatever they truly are, I think the Darkling was right when he said the three of them are meant to be worn together. They tug at me constantly, reminding me that I’m incomplete.

“I didn't start this road. But I will finish it, because if I don't, there will be no people and no world left to protect. I tried to show the stag mercy. I’ve tried to do the right thing, and every time I do, other people pay with their lives and worse. I wish I could believe there was another way, but every step I take, whether it’s in line or whether I try to leave the path, I get shoved further and harder along it. I’m not sure the world will survive me trying to do the ‘right thing’ again.”

“Have you no care for what there is to lose? For the damage you may cause?”

“If it’s to myself, no. Not anymore. I should have died when I attacked your son at the Little Palace. Whatever is left of me only exists to stop all of this.”

“And if it’s the world that pays the price?”

“I think that would be the very definition of ‘damned if I do, damned if I don’t.’ I’m open to suggestions. Suggestions that _don’t_ involve harping on something I can’t go back and change,” I clarified.

“Abomination against abomination.”

I didn’t deny it. I would do whatever it took at this point. “As ever with you people who are more than happy to offer two dozen different objections, I am happy to take any alternate ideas,” I repeated, my voice wry and almost exasperated.

“. . .I’ve read Morozova’s journals.”

“Have you, now? Did you find them stimulating reading?”

“No, I found them infuriating and frightening. Madness and brilliance seem to be inseparable bedmates. I’m hoping Nikolai is the exception.”

To my surprise, she laughed. “My son pored over those pages as if they were holy writ. He must have read through them a thousand times, questioning every word. He began to think there were codes hidden in the text. He held the pages over flame searching for invisible ink. In the end, he cursed Morozova’s name.”

It was surreal to think of him doing something so human, so mundane, so _curious._ To think of him lost and looking for answers just like anyone else.

I had cursed Morozova, too. Only David’s obsession persisted. It had nearly gotten him killed today when he’d insisted on dragging that pack with him, and yet part of me couldn’t blame him.

I hated to ask it, hated to even put the possibility into words, but I forced myself to. “Is there any chance Morozova left the cycle unfinished? Is there a chance he never created the third amplifier?” Part of me hoped for it, but most of me railed against the very idea.

For a while, she was silent, her expression distant, her blind gaze locked on something I couldn’t see. “Morozova never could have left that undone,” she said softly. “It wasn’t his way.”

For a moment, I gazed at her, the hairs lifting on my arms. A memory came to me: Baghra putting her hands to the collar on my neck at the Little Palace. _I would have liked to see his stag._

I felt my face go slack. “Baghra,” I began slowly, carefully, "did you kn—”

A voice came from the doorway: “Moi soverenyi.” I looked up, annoyed at being interrupted, and saw Mal.

“What is it?” I asked, recognizing the controlled undercurrent of urgency in his voice, and the edge that was in mine whenever the firebird was concerned.

“There’s a problem with Genya,” he said. “And the King.”


	8. E’ya Razrushost

I shot to my feet. “What happened?”

“Sergei let her real name slip. He seems to be taking to heights about as well as he took to caves.”

I released a growl of frustration. “We need to do something about him.” I’d been patient with Sergei, but now he’d put Genya in danger and jeopardized our position with Nikolai.

“Such as?”

Baghra reached out and snagged the fabric of my trousers, gesturing to Mal. “Who is that?” There was something odd in her voice, something I had never heard before.

“Mal. The one who found the stag with me. The captain of my guard.”

“Grisha?”

I frowned. “No,” I hedged. Why did it matter?

“He sounds f—”

“Alina,” Mal warned. “They’re coming to take her right now.”

I cursed quietly and pushed Baghra’s fingers away. “I have to go. I’ll send Misha back as soon as I can.”

I hurried from the room, closing the door behind me, and Mal and I raced for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Find him someone to talk to,” I said through fast breaths, answering his earlier question. “Get him somewhere he feels safe. I don't care. He was a shit when he was stable, but now he's a risk.”

The sun had long since set, and the lanterns of the Spinning Wheel had been lit. Outside, I glimpsed stars emerging above the cloud bank. A group of soldiers with blue armbands had gathered by the training area and looked about two seconds from drawing their guns on Tolya  
and Tamar. I felt a surge of pride to see my Grisha arrayed behind the twins, shielding Genya and David. Sergei was nowhere to be found. Probably a good thing, since I didn’t have time to manage him _and_ the problem he had created.

“She’s here!” called Nadia when she caught sight of us. I went straight to Genya.

“The King is waiting,” said one of the guards. I was surprised to hear Zoya snap back, “Let him wait.”

I put my arm around Genya’s waist, leading her a little way off. She was shaking.

“Listen to me,” I said, smoothing her hair back and looking her in the eye. “No one will hurt you,” I said firmly. “Do you understand?”

“He’s the King, Alina.” I heard the terror in her voice.

“He’s not the king of anything anymore,” I snapped. “And I'm a living Saint, remember? I will cut him into pieces before I let him hurt you ever again. I promise,” I said fiercely. I wasn’t as surprised to find that I meant it as I would have been mere weeks ago. Part of me had known this would have to happen sooner or later - there was no way around it. I had just hoped to break it to Nikolai first. This could get very bad, very fast, but no one would touch Genya again unless she welcomed it.

“You must face him,” I said.

“For him to see me. . . brought low like this—”

I couldn’t stop the incredulous puff of laughter. I put my hands on her face gently and made her meet my gaze. “There is nothing low about you. There never has been. Please see that.”

Mal approached us. “The guards are getting antsy.”

“I can’t do this,” said Genya.

“Yes you can,” I replied, my voice calm and sure to counter her fear.

Gently, Mal laid a hand on her shoulder. “We’ve got you.” His voice was steady and sure. For some reason, I felt my eyes prick at it.

A tear rolled down Genya’s cheek. “Why? Back at the Little Palace, I reported on Alina. I burned her letters to you. I tried to seduce her so the Darkling could control her. I let her believe—”

“You stood between us and the Darkling on Sturmhond’s ship,” Mal said in that same steady voice I recognized from the cave-in. “I don’t reserve my friendship for perfect people. And, thank the Saints, neither does Alina.”

“Can you trust _us?”_ I asked.

Genya swallowed, then took a breath, mustering the poise that had once come so easily to her. She pulled up her shawl. “All right,” she said.

We returned to the group. David looked questioningly at her, and she reached out to take his hand.

“We will be accompanying her,” I said to the soldiers.

Mal and the twins fell into step beside us, but I held up a hand to the other Grisha. “Stay here,” I said, then added quietly, “and keep alert.” Nikolai knew what Genya had done to his father. If it came to a fight, I had no idea how we would get off this mountaintop.

We followed the guards across the observatory and through a corridor that led down a short set of stairs. As we rounded a bend, I heard the King’s raised voice. I couldn’t make out everything he was saying, but I didn’t miss the word treason.

We paused in a doorway formed by the spear arms of two bronze statues—Alyosha and Arkady, the Horsemen of Ivets, their armor studded with iron stars. Whatever the chamber had once been, it was now Nikolai’s war room. The walls were covered in maps and blueprints, and a huge drafting table was littered with clutter. Nikolai leaned against his desk, arms and ankles crossed, his expression troubled, but not hostile. Not yet.

I almost didn’t recognize the King and Queen. The last time I’d seen the Tzaritsa, she’d been swathed in rose silk and dripping with diamonds. Now she wore a wool sarafan over a simple peasant blouse. Her blond hair, dull and strawlike without the polish of Genya’s skill, was twisted into a messy bun. The King was apparently still partial to military attire. The gold braid and satin sash of his dress uniform were gone, replaced by First Army drab that seemed incongruous with his weak build and graying mustache. He looked frail leaning on his wife’s chair, the damning evidence of whatever Genya had done to him clear in his stooped shoulders and loose skin. It was a viciously satisfying sight.

As I entered, the King’s eyes bugged out almost comically. “I didn’t ask to see this witch.”

I huffed a quiet laugh. “Moi tsar,” I greeted. My only sign of respect was a shallow and brief dip of my chin. “It is a pleasure to see you again, too.”

His lips thinned and I saw his jaw tremble slightly. “Where is the traitor?” he bayed, spittle flying from his lower lip.

Genya took a small step forward. Her hands shook as she lowered her shawl. The King gasped. The Queen covered her mouth.

The silence in the room was the quiet after a cannon blast. I saw realization strike Nikolai. He glanced at me, his jaw set. I met his gaze levelly, my eyes tinged with a slight apology. I hadn’t technically lied to him, but I as good as had.

“What is this?” muttered the King.

“The price for saving me,” I said. My voice was calm, but only on the surface. “From the Darkling.”

The King scowled. “She is a traitor to the crown. I want her head.”

To my surprise, Genya said to Nikolai, “I will take my punishment if he takes his.”

The King’s face flushed purple. Maybe he’d have a heart attack and save us all a lot of bother. “You will stay silent among your betters!”

Genya lifted her chin. “I have no betters before me.” I was so proud of her I could have cheered.

The Queen sputtered. “If you think—”

Genya was trembling, but her voice stayed strong as she said, “If he cannot be tried for his failures as a king, let him be tried for his failures as a man.”

“You ungrateful whore,” sneered the King.

Light snapped to place around me, livid and warning. I opened my mouth, but Nikolai beat me to it.

“That’s enough,” he said calmly. “Both of you.”

“I am Ravka’s King. I will not—”

“You are a King without a throne,” said Nikolai quietly. “And I respectfully ask that you hold your tongue.”

The King shut his mouth, a vein pulsing at his temple.

Nikolai tucked his hands behind his back. “Genya Safin, you are accused of treason and attempted murder.”

“If I’d wanted him dead, he’d be dead.”

Nikolai gave her a warning look.

“I didn’t try to kill him,” she said, reigning her tone in, if only a bit.

“But you did something to the King, something from which the court doctors said he’d never recover. What was it?”

“Poison.”

“Surely it could have been traced.”

“Not this. I designed it myself. If given in small enough doses over a long enough time, the symptoms are mild.”

“A vegetable alkaloid?” asked David.

She nodded. “Once it builds up in the victim’s system, a threshold is reached. The organs begin to fail, and the degeneration is irreversible. It’s not a killer. It’s a thief. It steals years. And he will never get them back.” Her voice was calm in its coldness. Her satisfaction was obvious.

What she described was no mundane poison, but the craft of a girl somewhere between Corporalnik and Fabrikator. A girl who had spent plenty of time in the Materialki workshops.

The Queen was shaking her head. “Small amounts over time? She didn’t have that kind of access to our meals—”

“I poisoned my skin,” Genya said lightly. “My lips. So that every time he touched me—” A slight tremor ran over her, then glanced at David. “Every time he kissed me, he took sickness into his body.” She clenched her fists. “He brought this on himself.”

“But the poison would have affected you too,” Nikolai said.

“I had to purge it from my skin, then heal the burns the lye would leave. Every single time.” Her fists clenched. “It was well worth it.”

Nikolai rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Did he force you?”

Genya nodded once. “From the time I was fourteen.” A muscle in Nikolai’s jaw ticked.

“Not just her,” I said quietly, starting the king in the face. “His list is long. Had I not been vital to Ravka, he would have seen it include me.”

Genya turned to look at me, shock breaking through her anger. I had never told her.

“I would never--” the King began, indignant, as if repulsed by the very idea, but Nikolai cut him off with that same calm tone.

“Father?” he asked. “Is this true? Did you?”

“She is a servant, Nikolai. I didn’t have to force her.”

The light around me flared so brightly that people had to look away; I sucked in a furious breath and took a step forward. Nikolai held an arm out to stop me and gave me a warning look.

After a long moment, he said, “Genya Safin, when this war is over, you will stand trial for high treason against this kingdom and for colluding with the Darkling against the crown.”

The King broke into a smug grin. But Nikolai wasn’t done.

“Father, you are ill. You have served the crown and the people of Ravka, and now it is time for you to take the rest you deserve. Tonight, you will write out a letter of abdication.”

The King blinked in confusion, eyelids stuttering as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was hearing. “I will do no such—”

“You will write the letter, and tomorrow you will leave on the Kingfisher. It will take you to Os Kervo, where you’ll be seen safely aboard the Volkvolny and across the True Sea. You can go someplace warm, maybe the Southern Colonies.”

“The Colonies?” the Queen gasped.

“You will have every luxury. You will be far from the fighting and the reach of the Darkling. You will be safe.”

“I am the King of Ravka! This. . . this traitor, this—”

“If you remain, I will see you tried for rape.”

The Queen clutched a hand to her heart. “Nikolai, you cannot mean to do this.”

“She was under your protection, Mother.”

“She is a servant!”

“And you are a queen. Your subjects are your children. All of them.”

Something, vindictive and tender at the same time, pulsed in my chest.

The King advanced on Nikolai. “You would send me from my own country on so slight a charge—”

At this Tamar broke her silence, cutting in before I could. “Slight? Would it be slight if she had been born noble?”

Mal crossed his arms. “If she’d been born noble, he never would have dared.”

“This is the best solution,” said Nikolai.

“It is not a solution at all!” barked the King. “It is cowardice!”

I bit back an unhelpful comment.

“I cannot put this crime aside.”

“You have no right, no authority. Who are you to sit in judgment on your King?”

Nikolai stood up straighter. “These are Ravka’s laws, not mine. They should not bow to rank or status.” He tempered his tone. “You know this is for the best. Your health is failing. You need rest, and you’re too weak to lead our forces against the Darkling.”

“Watch me!” the King roared.

I scoffed, so quietly no one seemed to notice.

“Father,” Nikolai said gently, “the men will not follow you.”

The King’s eyes narrowed. “Vasily was twice the man you are. You are a weakling and a fool, full of common sentiment and common blood.”

I bit back a cold retort, but the light around me heated angrily.

Nikolai flinched. “Maybe so,” he said. “But you will write that letter, and you will board the Kingfisher without protest. You will leave this place, or you will face trial, and if you are found guilty, then I will see you hang.”

The Queen let out a small sob.

“It is my word against hers,” the King said, waving his finger at Genya. “I am a King—”

I stepped between them. “And I am a Saint,” I snapped. “Would you like to see whose words carry more weight?”

“You shut your mouth, you grotesque witch. I should have had you killed when I had the chance.”

Beads of sweat started to break out on his forehead from the heat coming off of me. My fists clenching white-tight were the only sign of the effort I was spending to restrain myself.

“That is enough,” Nikolai snapped, his patience fraying. He gestured to the guards at the door. “Escort my father and mother to their rooms. Keep them under watch and ensure that they speak to no one. I will have your abdication by morning, Father, or I will have you in irons.”

The King looked from Nikolai to the guards who now flanked him. The Queen clutched at his arm, her blue eyes panicked.

“You are no Lantsov,” snarled the King.

Nikolai merely bowed. “I find I can live with that fact.”

He signaled the guards. They took hold of the King, but he pulled free of their grip. He walked to the door, bristling with rage, trying to summon the scraps of his dignity.

He paused before Genya, his eyes roving over her face. “At least now you look like what you truly are,” he said. “Ruined.”

I could see the word hit her like a slap. Razrusha’ya. The Ruined. The name the pilgrims had whispered when she’d first come among them. Mal moved forward. I went dangerously still. Tamar’s hands went to her axes, and I heard Tolya growl. But Genya halted us with a hand. Her spine straightened, and her remaining eye blazed with conviction.

“Remember me when you board that ship, moi tsar. Remember me when you take your last look at Ravka as it slips beneath the horizon.” She leaned in and whispered something to him. The King paled, and I saw real fear in his eyes. Genya drew back and said, “I hope the taste of me was worth it.”

The King and Queen were hustled from the room by the guards. Genya held her chin high until they were gone. Then her shoulders sagged.

David put his arm around her, but she shook him off. “Don’t,” she snarled, brushing away the tears that threatened.

Tamar started forward as I moved to put my arms around her.

She held up her hands, warding us off. “I don’t want your pity,” she said ferociously. Her voice was raw, wild. We stood there helplessly. “You don’t understand.” She covered her face with her hands. “None of you do.”

“Genya—” David tried.

“Don’t you dare,” she said roughly, tears welling up again. “You never looked at me twice before I was like this, before I was broken. Now I’m just something for you to fix.”

David bunched up his shoulders and said, “I know metal.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Genya cried.

David furrowed his brow. “I. . . I don’t understand half of what goes on around me. I don’t get jokes or sunsets or poetry, but I know metal.” His fingers flexed unconsciously as if he were physically grasping for words. “Beauty was your armor. Fragile stuff, all show. But what’s inside you? That’s steel. It’s brave and unbreakable. And it doesn’t need fixing.” He drew in a deep breath then awkwardly stepped forward. He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

Genya went rigid. I thought she’d push him away. But then she threw her arms around him and kissed him back. Emphatically.

I felt a wide smile spread across my lips. The muscles of my face hurt with it.

Mal cleared his throat, and Tamar gave a low whistle. I had to bite my lip to stifle a laugh.

They broke apart. David was blushing furiously. Genya’s grin was so dazzling it made my heart twist in my chest. “We should get you out of the workshop more often,” she said.

Nikolai said, “Do not think to rest easy, Genya Safin.” His voice was cold and deeply weary. “When this war is over, you will face charges, and I will decide whether or not you are to be pardoned.”

Genya bowed gracefully. “I don’t fear your justice, moi tsar.”

“I’m not the King yet.”

Her smile was a twitch. “All the same,” she said. I was oddly proud of her for it. Not for what had come before, her courage and strength. What I felt about that went far beyond pride.

“Go,” he said, waving us away. When I hesitated, he simply said, “All of you.”

I didn’t move as the others filed out. Mal didn’t so much as glance back. When the doors closed, Nikolai slumped at his drafting table, his head in his hands.

“Nikolai,” I said quietly, feeling like I was intruding.

His head snapped up, but he gathered himself quickly. “I said everyone, Alina.” His voice was more worn than I’d ever heard it.

“. . . Maybe this is the wrong time to say this, but I don’t need you to be a mask,” I said. My voice was gentle, but not pitying. “If you want to mourn, if you want to break things, if you want to stand and stare at a wall, but you don’t want to be alone while you do it, I don’t need you to hold yourself back. I don’t need you to be polished or collected or charming. I don’t need you to be anything other than who you are.” The words felt awkward and forced; I had never been good at comforting people.

I remembered with a shiver something similar I had once said to the Darkling. _It was about who I thought you were. I cared about you. I cared because of the pieces I thought I saw underneath the cold face and the cold voice._

He tensed, and for a moment it looked like he was holding himself back from something. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Twice, three times, before he whispered, “Go.”

There was no attempt to soften it. I hoped I could take that as progress. Mostly, though, I wished there was anything I could do to help him.

I paused, then said, “I’m sorry I didn’t control myself better.” I turned and left.

My feet dragged at the prospect of returning to the Spinning Wheel as I passed back down the hall. It had been one of the longest days of my life, and though I’d held exhaustion at bay, now it settled over my shoulders like a sodden coat. I decided that Genya or Tamar could update the rest of the Grisha on what had happened, and I would deal with Sergei tomorrow. But before I could find my bed and sink into it, there was something I wanted to know.

I found Genya on the stairs. She and David were moving slowly, and I caught the Fabrikator talking about the properties of vegetable alkaloids and beryllium dust. Saints help the world when those two started colluding on poison-making.

I touched fingertips to Genya’s back to get her attention. When she turned around, I greeted her with a small smile and leaned in to ask, “What did you whisper? To the useless old fraud.”

She watched me, a smile of her own curling her scarred lips, but it was not an expression of happiness. “Na razrusha’ya,” she said. “E’ya razrushost.”

_I am not ruined. I am ruination._

I could only stare at her. When I recovered, I huffed a laugh. “You are incredible,” I murmured. Then I leaned in and pressed a kiss to her hair, adding in a low voice, “And I am so glad you’re on our side.”

 

* * * * *

 

Mal had worked with Nevsky to see to our sleeping arrangements, so he was left to show me to my quarters, a set of rooms on the eastern side of the mountain. The doorframe was formed by the clasped hands of two bronze maidens I thought might be meant to embody the Morning and Evening Stars. Inside, the far wall was entirely taken up by a round window, ringed in riveted brass like a sidescuttle on a ship. The lanterns were lit, and though the view would most likely be spectacular in the daytime, right now, there was nothing to see but darkness and my own tired face looking back at me.

“The twins and I will be right next door,” Mal said. “And one of us will be posted while you sleep.”

A pitcher of hot water was waiting for me by the basin, and I rinsed my face as Mal reported on the accommodations he’d secured for the rest of the Grisha, how long it would take to outfit our expedition into the Sikurzoi, and how he wanted to divide the group. I tried to listen, but at some point, my mind shut down.

I sat on the stone bench of the window seat. “I need to be done, Mal,” I said. “I’m sorry. I just can’t. I’ll be lucky if I remember half of what you’ve already said in the morning.”

He stood there, and I could almost see him wrestling with whether or not to sit down beside me. In the end, he stayed where he was.

“You saved my life today,” he said. “You were incredible.”

I shrugged. “And you saved mine. It’s this habit we seem to have developed. Better than the way I used to chew my nails.”

“I know it isn’t easy, making your first kill.”

“. . . They weren’t my first,” I said.

He regarded me, but didn’t say anything. There was no judgement on his face, just calm acceptance. Patience. It hurt.

“It was on the way to the Little Palace, fittingly enough,” I said. “We were attacked by Fjerdans. After I had to flee the Darkling’s coach, I saw one of my guards,” I didn’t see a point in telling him it had been Ivan. “He was surrounded, and he would have gone down. So I set four men on fire and turned and ran, like I was told to.” I looked down at my hands. “It was as hot as I could make it. But it wasn’t hot enough.”

“But this was different.” It was half guess, half statement. No one knew me better than Mal.

“This was different,” I confirmed, thinking of the way so many faces had flashed in pain and shock and then gone blank all at once. “We were soldiers for so long, Mal. Would we have been different when it all started to fall apart, if we had stayed? Luchenko probably had a family somewhere, a girl he loved, maybe even a child. They all probably did. I know they had to die, but I did the same thing the wars have been doing for generations. And so what? Will it even stop when he’s,” the Darkling, I didn’t have to say, “dead? If Nikolai manages to bring peace, what happens when _he_ dies? What happens when another Vasily inherits the throne?” _And what do I do with eternity?_ I didn’t ask. _How do I stand by and watch it all happen again, over and over?_

“We do the best we can, Alina. You argued more than anyone for being involved. For helping, for stopping him. Has that changed?”

I plucked at the fabric at the bottom of my tunic. “. . . I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve been asking questions I never thought to ask before. And I don’t have answers. I thought like that - do the best I can. Help. Save people. But suddenly that means something it never did before. It isn’t just our lifetime I have to see through. It’s hundreds of them. Thousands. And I wonder. . . I’m starting to wonder what that looks like. Who I’ll be when I’ve watched hundreds of years of idiot Kings and pampered nobles build their luxury on the backs of people like us. Peasants and orphans and soldiers. What would I be willing to do to stop it? Not just for now, not just while the world is lucky enough to have a Nikolai. But forever.”

I made a mirthless sound. “Want to know the worst part? Killing those men and women today? It was easy. And it didn’t even occur to me until just now that maybe I should be bothered by that.”

I suddenly felt that I _had_ died in that chapel. That it had just taken weeks underground to set in. I thought about the woman the Darkling had discovered, even about the woman who had led the Second Army, and I no longer saw myself in her. I felt detached from everything I had once been, from all my reasons and justifications and desires. I saw her as weak, spoiled by clinging to ideals without really bothering to wonder what they meant. I still felt alive, I still felt like “me,” but who that was was different than it had ever been. I felt like I would be cool to the touch if not for my light. I felt hard and sharp. I felt taller. I felt strong.

Mal was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, “I’m not sure who my first kill was. We were hunting the stag when we ran into a Fjerdan patrol on the northern border. I don’t think the fight lasted more than a few minutes, but I killed three men. They were doing a job, same as I was, trying to get through one day to the next, then they were bleeding in the snow. No way to tell who was the first to fall, and I’m not sure it matters. You keep them at a distance. The faces start to blur.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“It feels good,” I whispered. I couldn’t look at him. “It _felt_ good, doing it, killing them. It feels good because it’s what I have to do, but I’m not sure if that’s the reason or the excuse.

“It feels good not to care like I used to. And every time I use the Cut, every time I call on a mountain of power, no matter the reason, every time I feel. . . I feel how much _better_ I am than everyone else,” I felt absolutely sick saying the words, and I knew it showed, though not as much as it should have. Still, I knew they were true. “It feels good.

I didn’t look up at him. Maybe I was afraid to see condemnation on his face. That the look of knowing he’d been right about me, that I had become something he didn’t recognize, would somehow be the final nail in the coffin of Alina Starkov.

“You could have struck down the Apparat and all his Priestguards, but you didn’t.”

I glanced up. His expression was thoughtful. “I wanted to,” I said. “It would have been so easy. And after everything he did, after knowing who he is, it would have felt good.”

“But you didn’t. That’s why you’re not him, Alina. You’ve had plenty of opportunities to be brutal, to be cruel. You’ve never taken them.”

“I only left him alive because I needed him. And I really doubt the Darkling started off as a merciless killer.”

He regarded me. “Still. You didn’t. And you didn’t any of the other times. That’s the difference between you and him. He does what he does because he wants power. You do it because you want to help people. And I’d be willing to bet that he wasn’t very much like you when he was our age. That kind of evil doesn’t come from nowhere.”

I felt a defensive twinge. I wanted to argue that the Darkling didn’t want power to have power. That he wanted it so he could help. But I knew that wasn’t true, not really. Maybe he had started out that way, but somewhere along the line, something had twisted in him, for him, and now, I wondered if he even saw the difference. Had helping just been his excuse to start crossing lines that should never have been crossed? Or had he been a good person once?

I took a deep breath, letting my eyes go far away. “For now. After we get the firebird—”

He shook his head. “The firebird won’t change who you are. You’ll still be the girl who took a beating for me when I was the one who broke Ana Kuya’s ormolu clock.”

“You said I changed after the fetter, Mal. The antlers.”

He shook his head without hesitation. “I was wrong. I was so caught up in what I wanted, in the way I thought things should be, I had my eyes sealed shut. I see now. I see you, and you are still Alina. You’re still good. As much as the amplifiers bring parts of you out that you’re afraid of, they bring all the other parts out, too.” Suddenly I heard the Darkling’s words from months ago, so similar, at the same time Mal spoke. “You have more of a temper, yes. You can be more impatient, more sarcastic, more harsh. But you’re also more compassionate. More determined, more driven, more kind and generous. Your heart hasn’t changed, and it won’t when you get the second fetter. It will just get bigger.”

I felt tears prick at my eyes, but they didn’t spill over.

He paused, and I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. There was an ocean surging in my belly, and I had no idea if tears or relief or affection were going to win out.

“You’ll still be the girl who was willing to sacrifice her life to save us at the Little Palace, the same girl I just saw back a servant over a king.” He hesitated. “The thing is, Alina, Luchenko was right.”

“About what?”

“There’s something wrong with this country. No land. No life. Just a uniform and a gun. That’s how I used to think too. That was why it was so easy for me to want to walk away.”

He had. He’d been willing to turn his back on Ravka without a second glance. I hadn’t understood it, really. “What changed?”

“You. I saw it that night in the chapel. If I hadn’t been so damned afraid, I would have seen it long before.”

I thought of the militiamen’s bodies and heads full of smoking holes. Of how easy I meted out death now, and how easy it was to think about meting out more. “. . .You should still be scared of me,” I whispered.

“I wasn’t afraid _of_ you, Alina. I was afraid of losing you. The woman you were becoming didn’t need me anymore, but she’s who you were always meant to be. Always. The amplifiers, the army, the leadership and nobility.”

“The lust for power? The ruthlessness?”

“The _strength.”_ He looked away. “You’re luminous. And maybe a little ruthless too. That’s what it takes to rule. Ravka is broken, Alina. I think it always has been. The woman I finally saw in the chapel could change that. Really change it.”

I shook my head. “Nikolai—”

“Nikolai’s a born leader, yes. He knows how to fight. He knows how to politic. He has an inventive mind. But he doesn’t know what it is to live without hope. He’s never been nothing. Not like you or Genya. Not like me.”

“He’s still a good person,” I argued.

“And he’ll be a good king. But he needs you to be a great one.”

My lips parted and I sucked in a silent breath. I didn’t know what to say. I turned to the windowless glass and pressed a finger it, then wiped the smudge away with my sleeve. Did I have to _marry_ the man to help him be the leader Ravka needed? “I’m going to ask him if I can bring the students here from Keramzin. The orphans too.”

“Take him with you when you go,” Mal said. “He should see where you come from.” He laughed. “You can introduce him to Ana Kuya.”

A toy of a smile shaped my lips. “Perhaps she and Baghra can form a knitting group. He’ll think I stockpile vicious old women as a hobby.” I made another fingerprint on the glass. Without looking at him, I said, “I want you to tell me about the tattoo.”

He was silent for a time. Finally, he scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck and said, “It’s an oath in old Ravkan.”

“Ok. But why the mark?”

This time he didn’t turn away. “It’s a promise to be better than I was,” he said. “It’s a reminder not to close my eyes again just because I’m afraid to see. It’s a vow that if I can’t be anything else to you, I will at least be a weapon in your hand.” He shrugged. “And I guess it’s a reminder that wanting and deserving aren’t the same thing.”

I looked at him. “What do you want, Mal?” The room seemed very quiet.

“Don’t ask me that.”

“Why?”

“Because it can’t be.”

“. . . Funny how everyone keeps thinking they can decide that for me,” I said bitterly. “I want to hear it.”

He blew out a long breath. “Say goodnight. Tell me to leave, Alina.”

“No.”

“You need an army. You need a crown.”

“For now.”

He laughed then. “I know I’m supposed to say something noble, here—I want a united Ravka free from the Fold. I want the Darkling in the ground, where he can never hurt you or anyone else again.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “But I guess I’m the same selfish ass I’ve always been. For all my talk of vows and honor, what I really want is to put you up against that wall and kiss you until you forget you ever knew another man’s name. So tell me to go, Alina. Because I can’t give you a title or an army or any of the things you need.”

There was no sound, not even our breathing. We only stared at one another, and I wondered what he saw.

I stood slowly. “No,” I said.

His face went slack and I saw pain flash over it. I saw his leg tense as if to stride forward. But then he clenched his fists and the cords in his neck stood out in sharp relief, and his jaw locked. “Alina.” His voice was low, and it sent a shiver through me. “Please.”

I didn’t want him to go. No part of me wanted him to go. I wanted him to stay so we could do what we should have done months ago. But despite what he said, that wasn’t what he wanted. No, it wasn't what he needed. He needed purpose, like he always had. And I was done hurting Mal. I was done forcing him.

“. . .Go,” I finally said. It was little more than a breath. I turned my head, unable to look at him.

He touched the space over his heart where he wore the golden sunburst I’d given him long ago in a darkened garden.

“Moi soverenyi,” he said softly. He bowed and was gone.

The door closed behind him. I doused the lanterns and laid down on the bed without so much as taking my boots off. I stared out the window wall. It was like a great round eye, and now that the room was dark, I could see the stars.

I brushed my thumb over the scar on my palm, made so many years ago by the edge of a broken blue cup, a reminder of the moment when my whole world had shifted, when I’d realized a piece of my heart was gone that I would never get back.

 

* * * * *

 

I dreamed of a weight sitting on the bed next to me, and the knuckles of a cool hand sliding down my cheek. I thought it was Mal, but the voice wasn't his. I couldn't make out the words.

What felt like moments later, I woke with a jump to Tolya at my bedside.

“I found Sergei,” he said.

“Was he missing?” I asked blearily.

“All last night.”

I pursed my lips. “Why wasn’t I told?”

“You were tired.”

“Sworn servant my ass,” I muttered to myself.

I dressed in the clean clothes that had been left for me: tunic, trousers, new boots, and a thick wool kefta in deep cream, lined with rich golden fur. A shimmering, sheer golden fabric laid over the cream of the kefta, held in place by simple golden embroidery. Well, simple for Nikolai - he always came prepared.

Tolya lead me down the stairs to the boiler level and to one of the darkened water rooms. Instantly, I regretted my choice of clothing; it was miserably hot. I cast a glow of light inside. Sergei was seated up against the wall near one of the big metal tanks, his knees pressed to his chest, eyes wide, rocking back and forth slightly.

“Sergei?”

He didn’t answer, just stared blankly at nothing.

“He’s been like this since we found him.”

“Which was how long ago?” I asked, failing to control the ire in my voice.

“Not long. Tamar tried to snap him out of it, but he won’t budge. That was when I went to get you.”

It was better to know they hadn’t just left him like this, at least. “Go have your breakfast,” I said, my own stomach growling. When Tolya had gone, I dimmed the light as much as I could without blinding myself and went to crouch down in front of Sergei.

His eyes were glazed and far away.

I pressed my fingers gently into his booted foot to let him know I was there, then moved my hand up his leg with small brushes so he could track my progress. Eventually I made it up to his face. I cupped it gently and tilted it to mine.

I reached for a question that would get his attention, but that was still more or less harmless. “What was Marie’s favorite food?” I asked, my voice carefully soothing.

He didn’t answer.

“What color did she like?” I asked. More silence. “Where did you kiss her for the first time?”

He sucked in a small breath as if coming back from a daydream. “The banya,” he said as if far away.

“Good,” I encouraged calmly. “Now look at my eyes, Sergei. What color my eyes are they?”

He focused just enough to look up at me. He looked dazed, confused. “Brown.”

I smiled at him. “Good,” I repeated. “Now look at how I’m breathing. Concentrate on it. Follow each breath in and out. Now breathe with me. In when I do. Out when I do.” I waited until his breathing slowed. “Good. Take the air into your stomach, not your chest.” Again, I waited. His rocking slowed, and when it finally stopped, I moved my hands from his face to his knees. “In and out,” I encouraged. “Your breath is the only thing in the world.”

It was a trick I had seen work once on a soldier who had come back to camp after a bad campaign. He had been the only survivor of an entire unit slaughtered by Shu. When he was at his most frantic, shouting or panicking, our Commander would do this. He made the young man look at him, asked him some small question to force his attention away from whatever was assaulting him, and then give him something simple to concentrate on until the panic had passed.

I worked Sergei back into his body. From his breath, to his skin, to his chest, arms and legs, hands and feet. Once I saw his shoulders relax, I sat down next to him against the wall and copied his pose, knees up to my chest, arms wrapped around them. “Why are you down here?” I asked, voice carefully gentle.

He squinted and turned his head away. “Too big up there,” he mumbled. “Too high.”

There was more to it than that. More to his behavior, more to him letting Genya’s name slip, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. We’d never talked about what had happened at the Little Palace. First we’d been separated, then we’d been surrounded by others. Or maybe there’d been opportunities and I’d avoided them. Maybe I just assumed Mal or Tolya or Tamar had handled it. What words could fill the hole where a living girl with chestnut curls and a lilting giggle had been?

“I miss her too,” I whispered finally. I didn’t, not really. But the memory of who I had been did. I hoped that was enough.

He buried his face in his arms. “I was never afraid before, not really. Now I’m scared all the time. I can’t make it stop.”

“It happens to soldiers sometimes. There's no shame in it.”

“I just want to feel safe again.”

His shoulders were shaking. I put a hand on his arm and gripped it, giving him something to focus on, and reminded him to breathe. I wished I had Nikolai’s gift for finding the right words. When he had stilled again, unsure if I was about to make matters better or worse, I said, “Nikolai has camps on the ground, Sergei. Some in Tsibeya and some a little farther south. There are way stations for the smugglers, away from most of the fighting. Would you prefer to go there? You could work as a Healer. You could do anything you like. You can just go and rest, if you want to.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Yes,” he gasped out.

I felt a rush of relief come over me. Relief for him, yes, but mostly it was relief for the rest of us. The voice that told me I should be ashamed was so small I almost didn’t hear it. Sergei had slowed us traveling. He had slowed us during our fight with the militia. He had betrayed Genya’s name and risked everything we were doing. He was unstable and unreliable. I didn’t think it was his fault, and he was still young, in a way. But that didn’t change what this was. I could apologize, offer useless words, but I didn’t know how else to help him but to get him away from this, and nothing changed the fact that we were at war. We could not afford liabilities like this. Like him.

“I’ll see to the arrangements today. If there’s anything else you need in the meantime, I expect to hear about it immediately.” I sat next to him in silence long enough to make sure he wasn’t going to disappear into himself after I left. When I felt safe doing it, I gave his arm another squeeze, rose, and turned to go.

“Alina?”

I paused in the doorway and turned to look back. I could just make him out in the dark, the light from the hallway glinting off his damp cheeks. “I’m sorry about Genya. About everything.”

I remembered the way Marie and Sergei used to jab at each other, thought of them sitting arm in arm, laughing over a shared cup of tea. “I know,” I whispered. “Just. . . get better, Sergei. For Marie. She’d kill me if she saw you like this.”

When I emerged into the hall, I was shocked to see Baghra waiting with Misha.

“And you’re not even frozen over yet,” I remarked in greeting.

She ignored my jibe. “We came to find you. What’s the matter with that boy?”

“Combat sickness. He’s had a hard time of it,” I said, leading them away from the tank room.

“Who hasn’t?”

“Some worse than others, Baghra. And some are better equipped to handle it than others. He broke right around the time he was cradling the drying, gutted body of the woman he loved after one of your son’s toys finished with her.”

“Suffering is cheap as clay and twice as common. What matters is what each man makes of it. Now,” she said with a rap of her stick, “lessons.”

I caught between a retort and feeling so stunned that it took me a moment to understand her meaning. “Wait, what?” Baghra had been clear as crystal that she had no intention of ever helping me again, nevermind teaching me. I gathered my wits and got my feet moving again, following her down the hall. “What on earth did I do right?”

“Very little. I had a chat with our new King.”

“Our-- Nikolai?”

She grunted.

My steps slowed when I saw where Misha was leading her. “You ride in the iron box?”

“Of course,” she snapped. “I should drag my body up all those stairs?”

I barked a laugh before I could help myself, glancing at Misha, who looked placidly back at me, hand resting on the wooden practice sword at his hip. I moved into the iron contraption and quiet words eked out of me. “I missed you, old woman.”

“I’m immune to flattery, little girl,” she snapped.

I hummed lightly. “Good thing I’m allergic to giving it, then. No wonder we get along so well.”

Misha slammed the grate closed and pulled the lever. I shut my eyes as we hurtled upward, then jolted to a stop, but it wasn’t nearly so bad the second time. Like being in his horrible flying machines. It was actually a little fun.

“So what did our dearest Tzar have to say?” I asked as we stepped out into the Spinning Wheel.

Baghra gave a wave of her hand. “I warned him that once you had the power of the amplifiers, you might be as dangerous as my son.”

“Good,” I said honestly. Someone needed to know, and better it come from her than me.

“I made him swear that if that happened, he’d put a bullet in you.”

I froze for a beat. “. . .And?” I asked, even as I dreaded hearing it.

“He gave me his word. Whatever that’s worth.”

“Oh,” I said quietly, “more than you might think, actually.” He might mourn me. He might never forgive himself. But Nikolai’s true love was Ravka. He would never tolerate a threat to his country, no matter what form it might take.

Baghra murmured instructions to Misha, and he led us to the southern terrace. The door was hidden in the hem of the Shorn Maiden’s brass skirts, and there were coats and hats hung on hooks along her boot. Baghra was already so bundled up I could barely see her face. I was running hot enough again that I thought I would be fine, at least for a little while, but I buttoned Misha into a thick wool coat before we stepped out into the biting cold.

The long terrace ended in a point, almost like the prow of a ship, and the cloud bank lay like a frozen sea before us. Occasionally the mist parted, offering glimpses of the snow-covered peaks and gray rock far below. _Too big. Too high._ Sergei wasn’t wrong. Only the tallest peaks of the Elbjen were visible above the clouds, and again I was reminded of an island chain stretching south.

“Tell me what you see,” said Baghra.

“Uh. . . clouds,” I answered smartly. “The sky, a few mountain peaks here and there. Unless you were looking for something more prosaic or less literal.”

She ignored my sarcasm. “How far to the closest one?”

I took a moment to gauge the distance. “Almost two miles.”

“Good,” she said. “Take its head off.”

I stopped, then gave my head a little shake. “. . . I’m sorry, I think I just passed out for a moment. Could you repeat that?”

“You’ve used the Cut before.”

“Yes. On trees. And air. And immortal monsters of living shadow. That’s a _mountain._ A really _big_ mountain. A really big, very far away mountain.”

“And you’re the first Grisha to wear two amplifiers. Do it.”

I laughed nervously. “Baghra. . . I’m not exactly at my best,” I hedged. "I just got my powers back days ago. After months of being cut off from them, after almost dying from sacrificing them to--” I glanced at Misha. “In the last fight. And It's a mountain,” I enunciated.

“I'm not deaf!”

“Your _hearing_ isn’t what I’m worried about!”

“I thought you wanted my help,” she snapped. “Are you hoping I’ll grow old and die while you complain?”

“Com-- Are you--” I sputtered until I managed to get myself under control. _Are you mad?_ I was going to ask. But I already knew the answer. The Darkling didn’t get it from nowhere.

I gritted my teeth and forced out several tight breaths. Baghra was ordering me to take the head off a gigantic mountain almost two miles away. Either she knew I could do it, or she was trying to teach me something through failure. Either way, I was getting what I wanted: she was training me again. Unless this was her idea of a good joke. Then I would know the world truly was doomed.

With one last shake of my head, I stood taller and opened up my chest. I felt my power, welcome and familiar, thrum through me. I began to call the light, slowly, from miles away. As it came to me, I asked, “You’re not worried about someone seeing?”

She must have heard the change in my voice, because all she said was, “The range is uninhabited this far north.”

I gave a sharp exhale. I remembered the feeling the first time I’d used the Cut. I remembered when the Darkling had called my power after putting the antlers around my neck. I remembered how it had felt aboard the Volkvolny to call on more power than any human had ever known. I remembered the whip, the bullets of light. I remembered trying out dozens of new things Mal and I had come up with at Keramzin. I remembered what it felt like at the moment of creation. What it felt like to do the impossible - Saints, just my existence was impossible. I remembered what my power could do when I got out of the way.

I took a deep breath, and when I exhaled, I felt the light ripple around me, as if it was water and my breath a stone dropped from a cliff. I didn’t try. I didn’t ask. I nearly vanished into the light, and I watched as it acted.

I lifted my arm high into the air, and it felt is if it were nothing but light, condensed in on itself a thousand times, ten thousand. And when it was time, I brought it down in a scythe, not commanding the light, but serving as the tool that allowed it to act.

For a moment, I thought I had done something wrong, that it had gone awry and I’d gone blind - the air turned white and everything around me vanished. Heat made my hair and my kefta fly back toward the Spinning Wheel.

When I could see again, my eyes went wide. A Cut, big enough to take off three peaks side by side, was vanishing into the distance, clouds evaporating into nothing in its wake, leaving a swath of clear, blue sky. I could see the shorter peaks below.

“How did she do?” Baghra asked Misha.

He was standing with his mouth open.

“Boy!” she snapped.  
  
He found his voice and said "She missed," at the same moment I said the same. My voice was far away on a scythe of light. It had been impressive. Remarkable. But it had not covered two miles.

“Feh,” she said.

Someone snickered behind me.

I turned. We’d drawn a crowd of soldiers and Grisha. It was easy to pick out the red crest of Harshaw’s hair. He had Oncat curled round his neck like an orange scarf, and Zoya was smirking beside him. I felt my blood heat from more than my power, and turned back to Baghra, my face stony.

“Again,” she said.

“How?” I asked, my tone clinical, safely and carefully detached. “The power was there, but I couldn’t get the distance.”

“It was bigger than the whole Spinning Wheel,” Misha breathed.

“What was?” Nadia asked from the group behind us.

“Her Cut,” one of the soldiers said.

Baghra scoffed, and I fought the urge to grab her cane and whack her with it as I planted my back more firmly to the crowd.

Everyone behind us went utterly silent. It would have been impossible to miss the blinding flash of light through the windows, but apparently not everyone had not seen the shape it had taken.

All Baghra did was scoff and say, “You are as much there as you are here. The same things that make the mountain make you. It has no lungs, so let it breathe with you. It has no pulse, so give it your heartbeat. That is the essence of the Small Science.” She thumped me with her stick. “Stop huffing like a wild boar. Breathe the way I taught you—contained, even.”

I grimaced from the impact of her cane, and I slowed my breathing again.

Snippets of Grisha theory filled my head. _Odinakovost_ \- Thisness. _Etovost_ \- Thatness. The idea that if you broke everything into its smallest parts, there was no difference between me and the light, or the light and the mountain. Which meant that, in a sense, the light was already inside the mountain, nested in the rock and snow. The words that came back to me most strongly were Morozova’s fevered scrawl: _Are we not all things?_

I closed my eyes. This time, instead of drawing the light to me, I went to it. I felt myself scatter, reflecting off the terrace, the snow, the glass behind me. I was in the clouds, above them.  
I was everywhere, as near or far as I chose to be. For a moment, I almost forgot I had a body at all.

I lashed out with the Cut. It was considerably smaller, but more focused, concentrated. It struck the side of the mountain, sending a sheet of ice and rock tumbling with a dull roar.

I growled as a cheer went up from the crowd at my back. “Quiet,” I barked loudly and impatiently, and their applause died, giving way to nothing more than shuffling feet and shifting bodies and the occasional whisper.

“Hmph,” said Baghra. “They’d clap for a dancing monkey.”

“All depends on the monkey,” said Nikolai from the edge of the terrace. “And the dance.”

I let my eyes slip closed and swore under my breath.

“Would you like to demonstrate?” I asked sharply without turning.

I would have sworn I could _feel_ him grinning.

I insulted him vehemently and inaudibly.

“Better?” Baghra asked Misha.

“She hit it,” he allowed. “But it was smaller.”

It was honest, but it still pricked at my pride.

“I didn’t ask you to hit it,” said Baghra. “I told you to take its head off. Again.”

“Ten coins says she doesn’t make it,” called one of Nikolai’s rogue Grisha.

"Traitor," I called.

“Twenty says she does,” shouted Adrik loyally.

I couldn’t help the half-grin on my face. It replaced the desire to turn around and snap the soldier in half, so I wouldn’t complain. Especially since I knew for a fact Adrik didn’t have the money.

“Thirty says she can hit the one behind it.”

My head snapped around. Mal was leaning against the balcony railing just outside the archway, separated from the crowd, his arms crossed, his face cool and relaxed.

“You always did have more ideas than brains,” I muttered. “That peak is over seven miles away.”

“More like eight, eight and a half,” he said breezily, a challenge in his eyes.

“Excuse me, who was the cartographer?”

It was as if we were back at Keramzin, and he was daring me to steal a bag of sweet almonds or luring me out onto Trivka’s pond before the ice had set. _I can’t,_ I’d say. _Of course you can,_ he’d reply, gliding away from me on borrowed skates, the toes stuffed with paper, never turning his back, making sure I would follow.

The crowd hooted - as if I hadn’t just told them all to shut up - and placed wagers as Baghra spoke to me in a low voice. “We say like calls to like, girl. But if the science is small enough, then we are like all things. The light lives in the spaces between. It is there in the soil of that mountain, in the rock and in the snow, in every bit of air between. The Cut is already made.”

The words echoed in me as I looked at her. She’d as good as quoted Morozova’s journals that time. She’d said the Darkling had been obsessed with them. Was she telling me something more now?

And I had just had the same thought she’d voiced. So why--

An idea occurred to me, and something in deep in my gut practically thrummed with approval. The jostling and ribbing of the soldiers and Grisha faded and vanished. Baghra and Misha vanished. The terrace vanished, and I stared outward, walking forward to its point until my legs bumped into the railing.

I didn’t have to close my eyes this time; I could already feel myself dissipating again, as if I had been waiting all my life for this realization, for this moment. This time I looked deeper. Deeper than the sky, deeper than the earth. I looked in places I thought of as dark, lifeless, empty and solid. Places without light. I looked down at the railing, and even as I saw it with my eyes, I _felt_ something else. Not solid. Not dark, not lifeless. Not stone. Just as Baghra had said, light was inside it. Pieces of _me_ were inside of it. For a moment, I would swear my own physical body even blinked.

I closed my eyes and sailed through the sky, faster than the Cut, faster than a thought, until I came up against the mountain. I was wrapped all around it, feeling its texture, its every crack and grain, even its color. Finally I understood what Baghra had meant when she had told me, so many months ago as we stood by the lake at the Little Palace, that I should be able to tell her exactly what she’d held in her had. If she had asked me now, I could have told her what it was from the inside out.

I breathed, and the mountain vanished just like the railing. I was in the dark of it, the spaces between, feeling myself compressed and breathless. I was the spaces where light lived even if it could not be seen. I felt it there, rigid and ancient and sure, but Baghra had been right: I also _was_ the mountain. I could breathe for it. I could give it a heartbeat. And I could draw the light inside together, and condense it to a disk, more solid than soil and stone.

I felt the second peak the same way, and it was as easy as if it stood right next to the first. Distance was literally nothing.

I opened my eyes and pulled the fragments of light, far too small to see, together, simple as closing a fist. A perfect, brilliant praxis explosion blew through the peaks simultaneously, tilted at opposing angles. They were infinite, shining halos that existed in this moment and in every moment beyond it. There was an echoing crack, like thunder from a distance. Then another. The sky seemed to vibrate.

Silently, slowly, the tops of the mountains began to move with a grinding sound like a landslide. They didn’t tip, just slid inexorably to the sides, snow and rock cascading down their faces, leaving perfect diagonal lines where a peak had once been, a ledge of exposed gray rock, jutting just above the cloud bank. If you could walk up to them, the new tops would be smooth as polished marble.

There was a heavy beat of long silence, and then all at once, I heard an explosion of shrieking and whooping behind me. But it was far away. I was in the air, in the railing, in the bodies jumping up and down and cheering and clasping one another. I looked down at my hand on the railing, there and not there, solid and not. I could see through it. Misha was jumping up and down, his voice breaking on the words as he screamed, “She did it! She did it!” and I started to pull back into my body.

I took a deep, steadying breath, and when I was rooted inside my own skin again, I glanced over my shoulder. The Grisha were gaping between me and one another while the soldiers around them celebrated. Mal gave me the barest nod, just a hint of a smile at one corner of his mouth, then started rounding everyone up and back into the Spinning Wheel. I saw him point to one of the rogues and mouth, “Pay up.” I couldn’t help the quirk of a half-smile. My eyes found Nikolai smiling at me like I’d just given him a new secret weapon in the fight against the Darkling. Which I supposed I had. He dipped his chin in what almost seemed like a bow and and turned to go inside with the rest. I heard that off-tune song whistling through his lips.

I turned back to the broken mountains, my blood fizzing with power, with understanding, my mind reeling from the permanence of what I’d just done. Discovered. _Again,_ clamored a voice inside me, proud and right and ravenous for more. But how much more could there possibly be? I had just discovered a way to leave my body and travel maybe anywhere. To see the world in its smallest parts, to put myself inside any person or thing.

I remembered the Darkling’s words: _I know things about power you can barely guess at._

First the Cut, but flexible and almost stable. Next, men with bullets of light, then not two days later, mountains, without so much as twitching a finger. Everything I had learned at the Little Palace said that Grisha had to move to use their power, even if it was just a twitch of fingers. The Darkling’s voice echoed through my mind again, saying, _An apt pupil._ I felt a vibration along the line that connected us.

“Took your time,” grumbled Baghra, pulling me back to myself. “At this rate, I’ll lose both my feet to frostbite before you make any progress at all.”

I hummed, suddenly cocky. “Would it make you feel any better if I told you that I didn’t use the Cut to do it? Or that I took the heads off two mountains at once without so much as twitching an eyelid?”

For the first time since I had known her, Baghra seemed to have nothing to say.

I grinned and enjoyed the victory - it wouldn’t last long.

As if on cue, she opened her mouth to harp at me. I didn’t care, and I didn’t stop smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2/4/18: Small tweaks toward the end. Plot reasons.


	9. Princes Get Used To The Word Yes

Sergei left that night on the Ibis, the cargo barge that had been pressed into service while the Pelican was being repaired. Nikolai had offered him a place at a quiet way station near Duva where he could recuperate and be of some help to the smugglers passing through. He’d even offered to let Sergei wait and take shelter in West Ravka, but Sergei had simply been too anxious to leave. I had pressed a dagger into his hand and wrapped his fingers around it, then hugged him tight and promised him he’d be safe there. I prayed it was true. Even so, the relief I felt as the ship sailed out of sight with him was a heavy thing.

The next morning, Nikolai and I met with Mal and the twins to figure out the logistics of pursuing the firebird in the southern Sikurzoi. We intended to keep the location of it away from the rest of the Grisha as long as we could.

Nikolai had spent the better part of two nights studying Morozova’s journals, and he was just as concerned as I was, convinced that there must be books missing or in the Darkling’s possession. He wanted me to pressure Baghra, but I had to be careful how I approached the subject. I was likely on very thin ice with the ancient woman, and if I provoked her, we’d have no new information and she’d stop my lessons, leaving me in the same rut I’d occupied all those months at the Little Palace.

“It’s not just that the books are unfinished,” Nikolai said. “Does Morozova strike anyone as a little. . . eccentric?”

“That’s an awfully generous way to put it,” I muttered. “The man seemed outright insane. I’m just hoping he can be crazy _and_ right.”

Nikolai contemplated the map tacked to the wall. “And this is still our only clue?” He tapped a nondescript valley on the southern border. “That’s a lot riding on two skinny pieces of rock.

“There’s an abandoned copper mine located at Murin,” he said. “You can land the Bittern there and enter the valley on foot.”

“Why not fly right into the Sikurzoi?” Mal asked.

Tamar shook her head. “Could be tricky maneuvering. There are fewer landing sites, and the terrain is a lot more dangerous.”

“All right,” agreed Mal. “Then we set down in Murin and come over the Jidkova Pass.”

“We should have good cover,” Tolya said. “Nevsky claims a lot of people are traveling through the border cities, trying to get out of Ravka before winter arrives and the mountains become impossible to cross.”

“How long will it take you to find the firebird?” Nikolai asked.

Everyone turned to Mal.

“No way of knowing,” he said. “It took me months to find the stag. Hunting the sea whip took less than a week.” He kept his eyes on the map, but I could feel the memory of those days rising up in him. “The Sikurzoi cover a lot of territory. We need to get moving as quickly as possible.”

“Have you chosen your crew?” Nikolai asked Tamar.

She had practically broken into a dance when he suggested that she captain the Bittern and had immediately set about getting familiar with the ship and its requirements.

“Zoya isn’t great at working in a team,” Tamar replied, “but we need Squallers, and she and Nadia are our best options.”

“Aidrik,” I interrupted flatly.

“He’s inexperienced.”

“He’s been with us a long time now, Tamar. He’s a stronger Summoner than his sister, and held his head down in the caves when they fell on top of us better than some.”

She looked at me, and I knew how steely my placid expression must be. Finally, she gave a slow nod. It was true, Zoya had more experience in the field than almost any of us, and the Darkling chose his favorites wisely. But if I could keep her off my team without putting anyone at risk, I saw no reason not to. At the very least, I’d be less distracted trying _not_ to be distracted by how well she got under my skin.

“Stigg’s not bad with the lines,” Tamar went on, “and it can’t hurt to have at least one Inferni on board. We should be able to do a test run tomorrow.”

“You’d move faster with an experienced crew.”

“I added one of your Tidemakers and a Fabrikator to the roster,” she said. “I’d feel better using our people for the rest.”

“The rogues are loyal.”

“Maybe so,” Tamar replied. “But we work well together.”

With a start, I realized she was right. _Our people._ When had that happened? In the journey from the White Cathedral? The cave-in? The moment when we’d faced down Nikolai’s guards and then a king?

Our little group was splitting up, and though I knew it was necessary, I didn’t like it. Aidrik practically could have flown us all there himself when he found out he’d be going. Zoya acted pleased at being left behind, but I could tell she would much rather be going with us. I’d even miss Harshaw and Oncat. But the hardest part would be saying goodbye to Genya. Between crew and supplies, the Bittern was already weighted down, and there was no reason for her to come with us into the Sikurzoi. And though we needed a Materialnik with us to form the second fetter, Nikolai felt David’s best use was here, putting his mind to the war effort. Instead, we’d take Irina, the rogue Fabrikator who had forged the cuff of scales around my wrist back on the Volkvolny. David was happy with the decision, and I was glad the two of them would be together, at least. 

Genya had taken the news better than I had. “You mean I don’t get to go tromping through a dusty mountain range while Tolya regales us with the Second Tale of Kregi?” She’d laughed. “I’m crushed.”

“You’ll be all right here?” I’d asked.

“I think so. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Nikolai is growing on me. He’s nothing like his father. And the man can dress.”

She was certainly right about that. Even on a mountaintop, Nikolai’s boots were always polished, his uniform immaculate.

“If everything goes well,” said Tamar, “we should be ready to leave by week’s end.”

I felt a surge of satisfaction and clenched my hands to resist the urge to rub the bare spot on my wrist. But then Nikolai cleared his throat. “About that. . . Alina, I wonder if you might consider a slight detour.”

I frowned. “What kind of a detour?” I asked warily.

“The alliance with West Ravka is still new. They’re going to be feeling pressure from Fjerda to open the Fold to the Darkling. It would mean a great deal for them to see what a Sun Summoner can do. While the others start scouting the Sikurzoi, I thought we might attend a few state dinners, shear off the top of a mountain range, put their minds at ease. I can take you to join the others in the mountains on the way back from Os Kervo. Like Mal said, they have a lot of territory to cover, and the delay would be negligible.”

For just an instant, I expected Mal to argue - to speak up about the need to get in and out of the Sikurzoi before the first snowfalls came, about the danger of any delay at all. Instead, he rolled up the map on the desk and said, “Seems wise. Tolya can go as Alina’s guard. I need practice on the lines.”

I ignored the hollow feeling in my stomach and the twist my heart gave and wouldn’t let myself look at him. Something between us had changed during our talk in my room. Or maybe it was only me that had changed, finally joining him in the place he’d found months ago. I wondered how he made it look so easy. Maybe it was just that I had held on for so many years in secret, that I was used to the hurt.

“If you insist,” I answered, airy and a little more distant than I intended.

If Nikolai had been anticipating an argument, he hid it well. “Excellent,” he replied, slapping his hands together. “Let’s talk about your wardrobe.”

I looked back at him, even more acutely aware of Mal when I said, “Yes, about that. Remember how you said I should claim black as my own color? As a statement or symbol?”

I saw Mal pause, just for a moment, out of the corner of my eye. He looked in our direction. So did the twins.

“I remember something along those lines,” Nikolai answered. He was too smart not to know where I was going with this, but he had the good sense to pretend otherwise.

“Gold is my color. That doesn’t change. But I want black added in. Accents maybe. I don’t care as long as gold stays the main color. And have them lighten and gentle it, so it goes with my hair. If I’m going to look like a freak, we might as well make it work for us.”

“. . . Clever,” Mal said. For a moment, it felt like my heart stopped.

“I don’t like that,” Tolya rumbled. “You’re not the Darkling. You shouldn’t look like him.”

“Please,” I said, my voice distant but sure. “With his coloring? He could never pull off gold. Plus he’s not half as pretty as I am, and he knows it. It’s probably why he keeps trying to put me in a cage.” My voice was light, but I felt a little sick at the joke.

“Nikolai, since I know you, I’m guessing you’ve had a full, hideously ostentatious wardrobe of gold and gems prepared and waiting for months. Since I’m changing it, maybe you can sell them to feed a small starving country somewhere.”

“That’s why I like you, Alina,” he said. "You’re always thinking of others.”

“Please. If I were thinking of others, I’d dress in roughspun and tell everyone to cram it. The clothing allowance you have set aside for me could probably feed Ravka for a year, it’s disgusting. Unfortunately, some blond idiot seems to have put the idea in my head that appearances matter.”

“You have so many smart, obviously handsome mystery friends telling you smart things, Alina. You should really introduce us some time, we could do great things.”

I felt my lids slide closed over a spectacular eyeroll.

 

* * * * *

 

As it turned out, we had more than a few other issues to handle before Nikolai could bury me in silks, but that didn’t stop a tailor - a tailor, for Saints’ sake, in his secret mountain fortress - from taking up my time. Nikolai had agreed to send the Pelican to Keramzin once it returned, but that was just the first item on the agenda. By the time we were done talking about munitions and storm patterns and wet weather gear, it was well past noon and everyone was ready for a break.

Most of the troops ate together in a makeshift mess hall that had been set up on the western side of the Spinning Wheel, beneath the looming watch of the Three Foolish Sons and the Bear. I didn’t feel much like company, so I grabbed a generous plate of food, roasted meat and dried fruits and rolls doused in caraway seeds, and some hot tea brimming with sugar and walked out to the southern terrace.

It was bitterly cold, but not as cold as it ought to be. Since my success with Baghra on the terrace, power had spilled into me, filling in the holes and replenishing the parts of me that were withered as if I hadn’t spent months trapped underground without my power. It was almost miraculous. My appetite was ravenous as I regained weight I had spent weeks losing. I looked less sallow and drawn, my eyes less hollow, my hair less wispish and brittle. But it wasn’t just that I was regaining what I had lost - more came with it than I had ever had before. More warmth, a bigger reserve of power and, the most interesting part: so long as I paid even a little attention, I could tell everything that was happening around me without even having to put my net out. It was like I had forged a new connection with the light, or a dividing curtain had been dropped, and I couldn’t have put it back up even if I had wanted to. I didn’t have to summon it anymore - it was just always there.

The sky was bright blue, and the afternoon sun made deep shadows in the cloud bank. I sipped my tea, listening to the sound of the wind rushing in my ears as it ruffled the hair around my face. To my right and left, I could see the spikes of the eastern and western terraces. In the distance, the stumps of the mountaintops I’d severed were already covered in snow.

Given time, I knew Baghra could teach me to push my power further, probably beyond what I had ever imagined, but she would never help me learn merzost, and on my own, I had no idea where to begin. I remembered the feeling I’d had in the chapel, the sense of connection and disintegration, the horror of feeling my life torn from me, the thrill of seeing my creatures come into being. But without the Darkling, I couldn’t find my way into that power, and I couldn’t be sure the firebird would change that. Maybe it was simply easier for him. He’d once told me he had far more practice with eternity. How many lives had the Darkling taken? How many lives had he lived? Maybe after all this time, life and death looked different to him—small and unmysterious, something to be used.

With one hand, I called the light, letting it slide over my fingers in lazy rays. It burned through the clouds, revealing more of the jagged, ruthless cliffs of the mountain range below. I set my glass down, working on a mouthful of roasted meat, and leaned over the wall to look at the stone steps carved into the side of the mountain beneath us. Tamar claimed that in ancient times, pilgrims had made the climb on their knees.

“If you’re going to jump, at least give me time to compose a ballad in your honor,” said Nikolai. I turned to see him striding onto the terrace, blond hair shining. He’d thrown on an elegant greatcoat of army drab, marked with the golden double eagle. “Something with lots of sad fiddle and a verse devoted to your love of herring.”

“Have you been planning?” I asked casually. “I hear I can look forward to you putting a bullet in my head if I turn evil.”

“I could always say I was lying.”

“But you weren’t.”

“No,” he said in a more serious tone. “I wasn’t.” And then the funny, flirtatious Prince was back. “I was thinking the heart, anyway. Much more poetic.”

“Perhaps I will jump. If I wait, I may have to hear you sing.”

“I happen to have a more than passable baritone. And what’s the rush? Is it my cologne?”

“You don’t wear cologne.”

“I have such a naturally delightful scent that it seems like overkill. But if you have a penchant for it, I’ll start.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Flattering, but no, thank you.”

“I shall obey you in all things. Especially after that demonstration,” he said with a nod to the lopped-off mountains. “Anytime you want me to take off my hat, please just ask.”

“Oh, I’d be very careful promising something like that to me, Nikolai. I’ve changed.” I followed his gaze to the mountains. “But it does look impressive, doesn’t it? I’ll be honest, it felt impressive.” I said with a quiet laugh and a sigh. “But the Darkling learned at Baghra’s knee. He’s had hundreds of years to master his power, and she had I don’t know how many hundreds before he was born. Properly, I’ve had less than one.” I paused. “Marvelous progress, I’m sure, but the learning curve seems impossible, no matter how high I climb.”

“I know just the thing to lift your spirits. I have a gift for you.”

“Is it the firebird?”

“Was that what you wanted? Should have told me sooner.” He reached into his pocket and placed something atop the wall.

Light glinted off an emerald ring. The lush green stone at its center was bigger than my thumbnail and surrounded by stars of diamonds.

“You did say understatement is overrated,” I said on a shaky breath.

“I love it when you quote me.” Nikolai tapped the ring. “Console yourself knowing that, should you ever punch me while wearing it, you’ll probably take my eye out. And I’d very much like you to. Wear it, that is. Not punch me.”

It worked - my shock dropped away and I smiled despite the situation. “Where did you get this thing?”

“My mother gave it to me before she left. It’s the Lantsov emerald. She was wearing it at my birthday dinner the night we were attacked. Curiously enough, that was not the worst birthday I’ve had.”

“No?”

“When I was ten, my parents hired a clown.”

“Oh, dear.” Tentatively, I reached out and picked up the ring. “Heavier than it looks,” I said.

“A mere boulder, really.”

“Did you tell your mother you planned to give it to a commoner orphan?”

“She did most of the talking,” he said. “She wanted to tell me about Magnus Opjer.”

“Who?”

“A Fjerdan ambassador, quite a sailor, made his money in shipping.” Nikolai looked out at the cloud bank. “Also my father, apparently.”

I smiled, I wasn’t sure why. The picture just fit so well. I didn’t know whether I should offer congratulations or condolences, though. Nikolai talked about the conditions of his birth easily enough, but I knew he felt the sting of it more deeply than he admitted. “At least now we know where you caught the bug. And he must have been quite handsome, too. Roguish, dashing, charming. . . .”

“Undoubtedly,” he agreed, but the lightness in his tone felt hollow. “It’s strange to actually know. I think some part of me always hoped the rumors were just that.”

“I’m afraid I can offer to say something kind, or something honest, but not both,” I said seriously. I was glad Nikolai had no ties to the Lanstsov line, but that didn’t mean he was. His father wasn’t just the king to him, his brother not just the crowned prince. They had been his family. “Either way, you’re still going to make a great king.”

“Of course I will,” he scoffed. “I’m melancholy, not daft.” He brushed an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve. “I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me for sending her into exile, especially to the Colonies.”

Was it harder to lose a mother or to simply never know one? Either way, I felt for him. He’d lost his family piece by piece—first his brother, now his parents. I wanted to tell him she’d forgive him, of course she would. But what did I know about mothers? “I’m sorry, Nikolai,” I said sincerely.

“What is there to be sorry about? I’ve finally gotten what I wanted. The King has stepped down, the path to the throne is clear. If there weren’t an all-powerful dictator and his monstrous horde to attend to, I’d be opening a bottle of champagne.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Your reality falling around your ears, the axe of a long-suspected truth falling, the loss of your family. But hey, you get one of your goals, so none of those things can possibly still hurt, right? Good thing, or I’d worry you were in pain. You’re far too much trouble to be worrying over.”

“Tell me that was the honest part, and not the nice one.”

“Come now, haven’t you heard? I’m a Saint. Aren’t we supposed to be comforting and motherly? Of course that was the nice one,” I joked.

Nikolai could be as glib as he wanted. I knew this wasn’t how he’d imagined assuming leadership of Ravka—his brother murdered, his father brought low by the accusations of a servant.

He looked back out toward the mountains. “I’m sorry about before. After my father. I was--”

“It’s fine,” I interrupted smoothly. “Really. I can’t imagine. . . . Well. If it was Nikolai talking, then it’s fine. Step one: meet the man behind the masks. _Then_ I can yell at him when he’s a shit.”

He was looking at me, but I kept my gaze in the far distance. “When will you take the crown?” I asked. “And will there be a party? Because if so, I’d like to respectfully decline your invitation in advance.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Not until we’ve won.” His voice turned somber. “I’ll be crowned in Os Alta or not at all. And the first step is consolidating our alliance with West Ravka.”

“And here we’ve arrived back at the ring, I take it?”

“Here we’ve arrived back at the ring.” He smoothed the edge of his lapel and said, “You know, you could have told me about Genya.”

I felt a wash of guilt, and protectiveness. “Could I?”

“I don’t want lies between us, Alina.” Was he thinking of his father’s crimes? His mother’s dalliance? Still, he was hardly being fair.

I looked down at the ring and toyed with it between my fingers, spinning it in slow circles. “I was protecting her. Far too few people have done that, especially when they were supposed to. She was one of my people, I wasn’t going to risk handing her over.

“The idea of honesty between us is a very lovely one, I won’t lie and pretend otherwise. But how many lies have you told me, Sturmhond?” I gestured to the Spinning Wheel. “How many secrets have you kept until you were ready to share them, and not a moment sooner?”

He tucked his hands behind his back, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Prince’s prerogative?”

“Flimsy at best, and if a prince gets a pass, then a Saint certainly does, too.”

“Are you going to make a habit of winning arguments? It’s very unbecoming.”

“On the contrary, it’s very becoming. You’re only saying that because you don’t like to lose. Not very gracious, your majesty.”

“It’s not something I’m used to.”

“Your ego must have taken some severe bruising since the day you helped the Darkling kidnap me, then. Was this an argument?”

“Obviously not. I don’t lose arguments.” Then he peered over the side. “Saints, is he running the ice stairs?”

I squinted through the mist. Sure enough, someone was making his way up the narrow, zigzagging steps along the cliff side, his breath pluming in the icy air. Before my eyes could even focus on the figure, the light told me it was Mal, head bent, pack on his shoulders.

“Looks. . . bracing. If he keeps this up, I may actually have to start exerting myself.” Nikolai’s tone was light, but I could feel his clever hazel eyes on me. “Assuming we best the Darkling, as I’m sure we will, does Mal plan to stay on as the captain of your guard?”

I caught myself before I could rub my thumb over the scar on my palm.

“Will I need a captain or a guard when I disappear?”

“That would be quite a feat, even for a Saint. Especially for a Saint,” he amended.

I sighed. “I have no idea what he plans.” It would be a lie to say I didn’t want to keep Mal near. But that wouldn’t be fair to either of us, would it? Every day that passed now, I wondered if there ever really had been a world in which Mal and I could have been anything other than what we were now. Distant. Dutiful. Professional. I hated it to my core. 

I had to force out my answer, and the words came out slow and measured. “But if I stay, it’s likely better that he doesn’t. I’m sure he misses tracking. And I’m fairly certain a living Saint can offer a commission and a full pardon, even if a King can’t.”

“You know he won’t take a post away from the fighting. There will be rebellions even after the Darkling is gone.”

“You’ll have to talk with him and decide something between the two of you, then, I suppose.” My voice sounded far away even to my ears. Detached. I turned my back to the view and leaned against the railing, still twirling the heavy ring between my fingers. The pain was like a fat, blunt knife gliding right behind my ribs. I was carving Mal out of my life, but my voice was steady. When had I learned to be this person? To be hard and sharp and calm even when - especially when - I was hurting? And who had I learned it from? Nikolai? The Darkling? Baghra? Or had all of them had hands in shaping this new person?

When Nikolai didn’t speak, I stilled my fingers and looked down at the massive stone. “You don’t need to marry me anymore, you know. You have the throne. You can unite the First and Second armies by marrying any Grisha you want. Someone not half as temperamental or just as likely to set nobles on fire as to humor them.” I wasn’t sure if I was talking to him or myself. “Someone with a gift for politics. Maybe even one from another country. You’d get twice your investment then.

“Zoya’s powerful and as respected as she is loathed, for instance. If you want someone who wouldn’t just smile and nod, she’d certainly be a good place to start.”

“Zoya? I make it a policy never to seduce anyone prettier than I am.”

“With one notable exception?” I asked coldly.

“We both know who seduced who, here, Alina. You’ve been making eyes at me since you boarded my ship.”

I breathed a laugh. “Yes, when I think back on that time, the thing that always jumps out at me is how starry-eyed I felt looking at your lumpy nose and muddy eyes.”

“You’re right,” he said. “The alliance I want is to see the First and Second Armies brought together. As for the rest, I’ve always known that whatever marriage I made would be political. It would be about power, not love. But the thing is, with us. . . we might have both, in time.”

“He says as if he’s not already hopeless for me. There you go with that famous charm.”

“It’s very hard to turn off.”

I smiled crookedly down at the ring, then I held it out to him.

“Keep it,” he said, curling my fingers over the emerald. “A privateer learns to press any advantage.” His hands lingered on mine a moment before dropping.

I hummed. “And a prince?”

“Princes get used to the word yes.”

“That explains why you’re so insufferable.”

Finally, I looked up at him, a funny, weary sort of smile on my face, feeling the weight and shape of the ring in my palm. 

His smile faltered. He reached out and brushed the hair back from my face. When I didn’t bolt or hit him, he lowered his hand to rest on the curve of my neck, underneath the antlers.

I shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. I knew I wouldn’t stop once the Darkling was defeated. There would always be work to do, people who needed help. Where better to do that than from the head of the Second Army and the throne of the Queen of Ravka? I wasn’t ready to decide, not now, but if this was going to be my life, then I wanted to know if he was right. If, given time, something real could happen between us. He was handsome. But I had kissed many handsome people over the years and felt nothing.

My voice was a breath of steam, carried away by the wind. “I seem to remember you saying something about ‘Not until you’re thinking of me instead of--’”

“Instead of trying to forget him?” He stepped closer. My breath hitched and caught around a knot in my throat. He leaned in slowly, giving me more than enough time to pull away. I could feel his breath when he said, “I love it when you quote me.”

He brushed his lips over mine once, briefly, then pulled back and looked into my eyes. When I didn’t pull away, they met mine again and lingered. They were warm, and soft, and sure. There was no jolt like I felt with Mal. There was no connection like I felt with the Darkling. But I didn’t hate it. It didn’t feel lifeless like it had with so many others. But--

I pulled back, sliding my hands up to his chest to tell him it wasn’t a rejection. “If this is going to happen, it has to be between Alina and Nikolai,” I said slowly. “No one else. Not Sturmhond, not a Saint, not the prince, not the charming noble or the Officer or any of the other masks I’ve seen you wear. I want one person in my life who I can believe.” I looked into his hazel eyes. A brief flash of sunlight brought out honey tones deep within them. “Kiss me now as yourself, whoever that is, or I swear to you I will shove you off this terrace and rule alone after seeing to your very moving funeral service.”

“Will there be doves? Tell me there will be doves.”

“Nikolai.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

He slid a hand up to my cheek. Mirth was in his eyes. “Gladly.” When he kissed me that time, it was more decisive, like he was telling me something instead of asking a question. He stepped in, head tilted down to meet my lips, back straight, and his front met mine. His free hand went to the small of my back and slid up my spine, over my neck to frame my face. His tongue found mine, and my hands on his chest gripped the fabric of his pristine shirt in fists. I exhaled and leaned into him.

One of his hands slid through my hair to the base of my skull. His other arm moved to wrap around me like a band of iron, pulling me tighter to him and lifting me to the balls of my feet. I gasped into the kiss and realized that my breath was coming in pants. I realized his was, too.

 _Foolish,_ a voice in my mind hissed angrily. I saw him grow old and die. I saw a parade of dead loved ones, generation after generation, standing alone while the world flew by faster and faster, a blur of motion, and I sat unchanged, withering from the inside on a cold throne.

I dug my nails into the arms of his coat and my mouth on his grew fierce, as if I needed his life, all of it, right here, right now, before it was gone. Before everything was gone, before everything became a gray blur and I stopped feeling, stopped remembering what it was to be human.

I didn’t realize I had started crying until he pulled away and swiped his thumbs over my wet cheeks. Our chests worked like a pair of bellows.

He laughed quietly. “Am I that good?” His voice was light, but there was a sadness in it.

I laughed too, wetly, but it was louder and more sincere than his had been. Then I realized why he looked sad. “You’re the second person I’ve ever kissed and managed, not once, to think about him, Nikolai.” I ran fingers over his jaw experimentally, curiously. My eyes followed them. He was watching me closely. “I just realized. . . you understand that with the amplifiers, I’m going to outlive you, right? Maybe my thousands of years.”

“I can think of worse things than having a wife who is eternally beautiful.”

My smile turned sad, and fresh tears spilled down through the tracks on my face. “So can I.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek. I let my hands drop and I turned and walked away.

Nikolai was a truly good man. I loved him. Not like I loved Mal, no, but it was still love. Yet I couldn’t make the voice telling me _he is nothing, he is dust,_ shut up. I clung to the ring in my hand.

 

* * * * *

 

When I got back to my room that evening, Nikolai had more surprises waiting. I hesitated, then turned on my heel and walked down the corridor to where the other women were lodged. For a long second, I just stood there, feeling awkward and foolish, then I forced myself to knock.

Nadia answered. Behind her, I saw Tamar had come to visit and was sharpening her axes by the window. Genya sat at the table, sewing gold thread around another eye patch, and Zoya was lounging on one of the beds, keeping a feather aloft with a gust from her fingertips.

“Would you all like a distraction?” I asked.

“What is it?” asked Zoya, keeping her eyes on the feather.

“Just shut up and come and see.”

She rolled herself off the bed with an exasperated sigh. I led them down the hallway to my room, and opened the door with a flourish.

Genya dove into the pile of gowns laid out on my bed. “Silk!” she moaned. “Velvet!”

“You can have the brocade if you promise I’ll never have to lay eyes on it again.”

“You horrible, wretched woman,” Genya said, “I have never adored you more.”

Zoya picked up a kefta hanging over the back of my chair. It was pale gold and shimmering faintly, the sleeves and hem embroidered lavishly in black, the cuffs marked with jeweled sunbursts. Black was worked into the hem as if smoke being drowned out by the sun. “Sable,” she said to me, stroking the lining. “I’ve never loathed you more.”

I hummed, collecting a small pile of several garments and setting it aside. “Good to know I’m doing something right, at least. Each of you can pick one to have, except these. I can’t wear all of them in West Ravka, and I feel confident the prince will not shed tears over having to commission more.

“Did Nikolai have these made for you?” Nadia asked.

I arched a brow at her as if to say _who else?_

“Are you sure he wants you giving them away?”

“I’m sure they became mine to do what I wanted with the minute he had them left in here. And if he doesn’t like it, he can learn to leave more careful instructions. Besides, technically I’m only lending them. I don’t actually want to bankrupt the country just to keep myself in hideously ornate clothing.”

“It’s smart,” Tamar said, tossing a teal cape over her shoulders and looking at herself in the mirror. I had another, smaller teal accessory tucked away in my pile - I figured Nikolai had the color thrown in to remind him of Sturmhond. If I was feeling generous, I might wear it. “He needs to look like a King, and you need to look like a Queen.” 

My eyes slid closed and I reached into my pocket to clutch the ring. It had lain in there all day, and I would have sworn it made that half of my jacket hung lower than the other. I turned to my small wardrobe and fished around in one of the drawers until I found a long piece of leather. “I suppose so,” I said as I dropped the ring onto it, tied a careful knot and turned around, putting it over my head.

Genya spotted it immediately. “Saints,” she breathed. “That’s the Lantsov emerald.”

“So I’m told.” It seemed to glow in the lamplight, the tiny diamonds twinkling around it.

“Did he just give it to you? To keep?” asked Nadia.

Genya seized my arm. “Did he propose?”

“Lately? No. Not technically. I figured the ring is his way of working up to it again, though.”

“He might as well have,” Genya said. “That ring is an heirloom. The Queen wore it everywhere, even to sleep.”

“Toss him over,” Zoya said. “Break his heart cruelly. I will gladly give our poor prince comfort, and I would make a magnificent queen.”

“You’ve followed where I led long enough on that front, thank you.”

She seemed impervious to the insult. She just sighed and held the emerald up so it flashed. “I am horrible,” she said abruptly. “All these people dead, and I miss pretty things.”

Genya bit her lip, then blurted, “I miss almond kulich. And butter, and the cherry jam the cooks used to bring back from the market in Balakirev.”

“I miss the sea,” said Tamar, “and my hammock aboard the Volkvolny.”

“I miss sitting by the lake at the Little Palace,” Nadia put in. “Drinking my tea, everything feeling peaceful.”

Zoya looked at her boots and said, “I miss knowing what happens next.”

“Those were better days,” I admitted, thinking of years blurring together in the army with-- no. I tamped down on that thought.

Zoya laid the ring back down gently. “Will you say yes?”

“He’d have to ask me first. Again. Its been months since he proposed last, think of the scandal if I just went around acting as if we were engaged.”

“He will.”

I sighed and plucked the ring up to look at it. “Nikolai is a good man. He’ll be a good King. If I want to help people, there’s no better place for me to be. It would be good for Grisha, for the First and Second Armies, and for the world he wants to build. From what he’s told me, it’s a place I’d want to get behind. And he’s right, it would be all but impossible for me to disappear after this, unless I had a Tailor I could keep in my back pocket. Between the hair and the antlers, I’d have to keep my head wrapped like a burn victim.”

“They make dyes,” Genya offered. “You could disguise the antlers as something else, a different sort of necklace.”

I wrinkled my nose. Then my expression turned serious. I took one last, thoughtful look at the ring, then tucked it safely under my tunic and hid its bulky shape between my breasts. “I think the truth is, I don’t want to hide what I am ever again. If I try to disappear, that will be the rest of my life. When I got my power back that day in the Kettle, I swore to myself I would never let it go again.” I paused. “I can’t think of a reason to say no.” I ignored the voice in my head screaming at me, telling me what a liar I was. Listening to it would do no one any good. Mal had made his choice. Harder to settle was the wisp of darkness in me that stirred at the words.

Genya gave me a look of sympathy, but Zoya gave a disgusted snort. “I lied. _Now_ I have never loathed you more.”

“It would be something special,” said Tamar, “to have a Grisha on the throne. To think of a world where otkazat’sya might not hate us just because we are what we are.”

“She’s right,” added Genya. “To be the ones to rule, instead of just to serve.”

They wanted a Grisha queen. Mal wanted a commoner queen. Nikolai wanted a Saint queen. And what did I want? Peace for Ravka. A chance to sleep easy in my bed without fear, and to know that I was helping others do the same. An end to the tired, buried dread that I woke to every morning. There were old wants too: to be loved for who I was, not what I could do, to lie in a meadow with a boy’s arms around me and watch the wind move the clouds. But those dreams belonged to a girl, not to a Saint, not to the person I had become, and not to the person I wanted to be.

Zoya sniffed, settling a seed pearl kokochnik atop her hair. “I still say it should be me.”

Genya tossed a velvet slipper at her. “The day I curtsy to you is the day David performs an opera naked in the middle of the Shadow Fold.”

“Like I’d have you in my court.”

“You should be so lucky. Come here. That headpiece is completely crooked.” I wondered when they had started to get along so well. Had it happened in the White Cathedral? Or when Zoya had defended Genya from the King’s guard with the rest of the Grisha?

Nadia bumped my shoulder with her own. “There are worse things than a prince.”

“Yes. There are.”

“Better things too,” Tamar said. She shoved a cobalt lace gown at Nadia. “Try this one on.”

Nadia held it up. “Are you out of your head? The bodice might as well be cut to the navel.”

Tamar grinned. “Exactly.”

“Well, Alina can’t wear it,” said Zoya. “Even she’ll fall right out of it onto her dessert plate.”

“Diplomacy!” shouted Tamar.

Nadia collapsed into giggles. “West Ravka declares for the Sun Summoner’s bosom!”

“I’m so very glad you’re all enjoying yourselves,” I said around a huge grin.

Tamar hooked a scarf over Nadia’s neck and drew her in for a kiss.

“Oh, for Saints’ sake,” complained Zoya. “Is everyone pairing up now?”

Genya snickered. “Take heart. I’ve seen Stigg casting mournful glances your way.”

“And Adrik,” I added helpfully. “Maybe Harshaw, too. I can’t tell, he’s impossible to read.”

“Stigg is Fjerdan,” Zoya said. “That’s the only kind of glance he has. Adrik is a lovesick puppy, and Harshaw is mad. I can arrange my own assignations, thank you very much.”

They sorted through the trunks of clothes, and eventually I couldn’t help but join in. We choose more gowns, coats, and jewels best suited to the trip. Nikolai had been strategic, as always. Each dress was wrought in shades of black and pale gold. I wouldn’t mind variety, but the point of this trip was to perform, not for pleasure.

The girls stayed until the lamps burned low, and I was grateful for the distraction of their company. But when they’d claimed the dresses they liked, and the rest of the finery had been wrapped and returned to the trunks, they said their goodnights.

I pulled the ring out of my shirt, feeling the absurd weight of it in my palm, warm from resting against my skin.

Soon the Kingfisher would return and Nikolai and I would leave for West Ravka. By then, Mal and his team would be on their way to the Sikurzoi. That was the way it should be. I’d hated life at court, but Mal had loathed it. Even if he had wanted to come, I would have told him no. He’d be miserable standing guard at banquets in Os Kervo, and I was fairly certain the sight would have me sick all over the appetizers.

Mal had flourished since we’d left the Little Palace, even underground. He had become a leader, found a new sense of purpose. I couldn’t say he seemed happy, but maybe that would come in time, with peace, with a chance for a future. Finally without me weighing him down, holding him back. The thought set a knife in my stomach, but it was a feeling I would learn to live with. I wondered if it would ever get easier. When it was time to send him away at the end of all of this, would it hurt less? Or more? Would we be allowed to visit? How would it feel when he got married, or had his first child? How would it feel knowing he was out there, hearing about my own marriage and family and every scrap of gossip about my life?

We would find the firebird. We would face the Darkling. Maybe we’d even win. I would put on Nikolai’s ring, and Mal would be reassigned. He would have the life he deserved, the life he wanted, the life he always should have had. So why did that knife between my ribs keep twisting?

I lay down on my bed, starlight pouring through the window, the emerald clutched in my hand, held over my chest.

Later, I would never be sure if I’d done it deliberately, or if it was an accident, my bruised heart plucking at that invisible tether. Maybe I was just too tired to resist his pull. I found myself in a blurry room, staring at the Darkling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter coming shortly. I know what we're all here for, and this would have been too cruel a cliffhanger to leave standing.
> 
> \----
> 
> SO! Guys/ladies/whatever. Let's get real here for a minute.
> 
> There's gonna be porn in this.
> 
> I was going to post a separate fic so that one would have canon levels of smut and the other could be more adult. But I'm kind of wondering if anyone gives a sh*t.
> 
>  **SO!** Basically, if you'd prefer your smut be more classy/softcore, tell me now, otherwise I'm not going to bother with the second fic. But if even one person does, don't be all shy and not say anything. I wouldn't offer if I wasn't willing to do it. :3  <3 I want people to enjoy the story, and porn can be pretty divisive.
> 
> P.S. Thank my once-and-future Beta (who is totally still alive, btw <3), because before her, the smut was just going to be all classy and subtle and junk.


	10. You Have No Idea What I Can Make Possible

He was sitting on the edge of a table, his shirt crumpled into a ball at his knee, his arms raised above his head as the vague shape of a Corporalnik Healer came in and out of focus, tending to a bloody gash in the Darkling’s side. I thought we might be in the infirmary at the Little Palace, but the space was too dark and blurry for me to tell.

I tried not to notice the way he looked—his mussed hair, the shadowed ridges of his bare chest. He seemed so human, just a man wounded in battle, or maybe sparring. _Not a man,_ I reminded myself, _a monster who has lived hundreds of years and taken hundreds of lives, probably more._

His jaw tensed as the Corporalnik finished her work. When the skin had knitted together, the Darkling dismissed her with a wave. She hovered briefly, then slipped away, fading into nothing.

I wasn’t sure where the question came from, but it was out before I could think better of it. “Are you alright?”

“There’s something I’ve been wondering,” he said, ignoring my question. No greeting, no preamble.

I waited.

“The night that Baghra told you what I intended, the night you fled the Little Palace, did you hesitate?”

“You know I did.”

“In the days after you left, did you ever think of coming back?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I nearly turned around that first night.”

“But you chose not to.”

“And you know exactly why.” I should have left then, returned to my room in the Spinning Wheel. I should at least have stayed silent, but I was so weary, and it felt so easy to be here with him. I had no reason to lie or pretend, not now, not like this. Had he felt this way all those times he visited me? Was that why he had seemed different so many of them? “It wasn’t just what Baghra said, or even what I overheard. You lied to me. You deceived me. From the moment we met. You. . . drew me in.” _Seduced me, made me want you, made me question my own heart._

“I needed your loyalty, Alina. I needed you bound to me by more than duty or fear.” His fingers tested the flesh where his wound had been. Only a mild redness remained.

“Which worked well then. How are you finding it now that you want more?”

A smile twisted his lips. “You have no idea what I want.”

“No? I think I do.” I took a step toward him. “I think in the beginning it was an act, just as you intended. But that changed, didn’t it?” I thought of his confusion when he kissed me by the lake. That could have been a ploy, but the anger and resentment I had felt the night of the ball had been real. “You let yourself start getting absorbed into your own game, into the lie you spun. You liked it. You chased, and then I fled.

“I fought you at every turn. I condemned your lies and your cruelty. And now? Maybe you’re being honest. Maybe you’re acting. You’re probably doing both. Maneuvering me, manipulating me even as you tell me the truth. Finally.

“I think you’re still boarded up, walled off from everything and everyone. I imagine it was impossible to live any other way all these centuries with no constant but the warmth and support of Baghra,” I said with gentle sarcasm. “But you don’t want to be that way, do you? Not really. You want an exception.” It was a safe guess. Whatever else he was, he was still human, and no one wanted to be truly, profoundly alone. He would know that better than anyone. “Does she even really know you anymore?

“No, you want that one person, one single person to really see you. The real you.” I thought of what he had said to me so many times, and turned it back on him. “To see everything you are, your darkness, your kindness,” I almost choked on the word, “and never turn away. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He was impossibly still as he kept watchful gray eyes on me. I saw his hands grip the edge of the table, just for a moment. I knew him well enough now to see the tiny movement for what it was: confirmation. And there was a tightness around his eyes that I wouldn't have been able to see even a few months ago.

“I used to think you only wanted power,” I went on, my voice softening. “Then I started to wonder if you didn’t want power as a means to do good, to save Ravka and the Grisha, twisted as your idea of how to get to it was. I don’t think that anymore. Tell me I’m wrong when I guess that you want power _and_ to save Ravka and the Grisha.”

I drifted nearer. “You’re patient. You have to be. But you’re also desperate, because it’s so close, closer than it’s ever been, no matter what you’ve done or how you’ve maneuvered or bided your time,” I guessed, “and there is one stubborn woman standing in your way. But you don’t just want my help, do you? You don’t just want me to make your goals possible. You want _everything_ from me.

“One stubborn woman,” I repeated, “maybe the only person who you don’t want to have to look down on. To position and threaten and bribe and manipulate. One person who you want to match you, to _prove_ good enough for you, to come forward voluntarily and stand with you, always. Tell me I’m wrong,” I breathed.

We looked at one another in silence for what felt like a long time. Finally, he murmured, “An apt pupil.”

My lips parted. I felt all my longing, my fear, my desperation, my knowledge of what lay before me in the years to come, of my own fundamental differentness all rise up. All the things I had feared, all the things I had set aside because I couldn’t figure out what to do with them. All things that the Darkling already understood. _There are no others like us, Alina. And there never will be._ For a moment, it felt like my chest was collapsing in on itself, and I felt the pull toward him so strongly that I couldn’t remember why I was supposed to fight it. My fingers twitched, wanting to reach out.

Silence stretched and they twitched again, toward him this time, but he spoke before they could truly move. “There are rumors that your Lantsov prince has been sighted.”

For a moment I was thrown off balance by the sharp turn. I blinked at him. “I’ve heard them,” I said.

He glanced up, his lips curling in a slight smile. “Do you like him?”

“He’s a good man.”

“It’s harder when you like them. You mourn them more.” There was that knife in my chest again, twisting. It seemed I couldn’t get away from this.

How many had the Darkling mourned? Had there been friends? A wife, children? Had he ever let anyone get that close?

“Tell me, Alina,” said the Darkling. “Has he claimed you yet?”

“Claimed me? Like a peninsula?”

“No blushes. No averted eyes. How you’ve changed. What about your faithful tracker? Will he sleep curled at the foot of your throne?”

He was pressing, trying to provoke me. Why? Instead of shying away, I moved closer. “You came to me wearing his face that night. Was it because you were afraid I would turn you away?”

His fingers tightened on the table’s edge, but then he shrugged. “He was the one you longed for. Do you still?”

I couldn’t look away from his face. “I’m not certain longing is something I get to have anymore.”

“You might be surprised,” he said quietly after a moment, eyes focused on mine.

My brows drew together, and I changed the subject. “Why do you have such disdain for them? Otkazat’sya.”

“Not disdain. Understanding.”

“Understanding that makes them worthy of disdain? They’re not all fools and weaklings.”

“What they are is predictable,” he said. “The people would love you for a time. But what would they think when their good king aged and died, while his witch of a wife remained young? When all those who remember your sacrifices are dust in the ground, how long do you think it will take for their children or their grandchildren to turn on you?”

His words sent a sick chill through me. I wanted to think that a living Saint would be different, but I knew what people always did to their Saints in the end.

“What exactly is your plan, then?” I asked, failing to keep all the defensiveness from my voice. “Continue pretending to be your own descendent? You’ll have to take wives as the King, and I can’t see you being the type to allow children. How would you explain a male line unable to produce legitimate heirs generation after generation? Or would you have children that simply failed to outlive their fathers?” I asked coldly. “Would you kill them and wear their faces through the years?” I felt a little guilty for that, but it was still a valid question. I wanted to think that not even he could do something so abhorrent. But I would be a fool to underestimate him again.

“And what if I came back?” I pressed. “How would you excuse the return of the same two rulers, lifetime after lifetime? Would I disappear and come back as a Fjerdan princess? Would you be the son of a Kerch merchant lord? Would we hide our powers every few generations? Does it ever get old, changing who you are so often? Pretending?”

“We all pretend, Alina. Not all of us can do what you and I could do together. They see what they want to see. They’re easy to fool. You know that better than most. You hid in the shadow of their ignorance most of your life. But you’ve considered it, haven’t you?” It wasn’t really a question. “Eternity.” His lips twisted. “You’re young; you live in a single moment. I live in a thousand.” Had I not thought the same think about Nikolai just hours ago? _Are we not all things?_

In a flash, his hand snaked out and seized my wrist. The room came into sudden focus. He yanked me close, wedging me between his knees. His other hand pressed to the small of my back, his strong fingers splayed over the curve of my spine. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

“You were meant to be my balance, Alina. You are the only person in the world who might rule with me, who might keep my power in check.”

A slight tremor took my chin before I could stop it. “Then maybe you should start listening to me,” I whispered. “That is what you would have to do for something like that to work.”

He looked at me, and for a moment, I would have sworn he wanted to agree. But he didn’t.

“Did you really see a world where someone would keep your power in check _without_ having to fight you? What do you think I’ve been doing? Why do you think I’ve been doing it? You’re probably even more stubborn than I am.”

He considered me. “Come back,” he finally said.

I closed my eyes. “I can’t.”

“I haven’t lied to you, Alina,” he said quietly. “Not in all the times I visited you, and not now.”

“That’s the thing about trust. It doesn’t come back to life just because you ask for it.” He canted his head at me, but I went on before he could say anything. No reply he could give would be enough.

“Who would balance me?” I asked, giving raw voice to the thought that haunted me even more than the possibility that the firebird wouldn’t be waiting in Dva Stolba, more than the thought of Mal leaving forever, of marrying a man who would disappear without having truly occupied more than a brief instant in my long life. My voice hardened and turned accusing. “Who’s to say I would be any better than you? When the ages pass and I’ve learned what you have to teach and I become more powerful than you can ever be? What if instead of stopping you, I’m just another avalanche? Would we roll across the world together, crushing anything we wanted until someone found a way to kill us both, unconcerned for the fleeting lives of ants?”

Again, he just looked at me with that same expression I remembered from the day I met him, the one that looked where other people chose not to, the one that saw what I counted on it ignoring. “What’s your idea, then? I know you have one. What’s your plan?”

I thought of all the times I had said the same thing to Mal, to Baghra, to myself. _You’re fine telling me you hate my plan, but you don’t have a single alternative to offer._ I knew he wanted power. He wanted to own it, hoard it. But I also believed that in his own way, he truly wanted to help. That desire had been twisted and warped into something unrecognizable, but I didn’t think that a piece of it wasn’t still there.

My lips twitched. “I’ve been a little too preoccupied trying to stop a power-hungry dictator with an army of nearly-invincible monsters from crushing the world under his foot to do much thinking about how to bring day-to-day safety and stability to the people. But I’ll give it some thought,” I added, almost sardonic. I lifted my hand to touch his jaw, an absent movement, but stopped it and felt a look of confusion spread over my face. I tried to take a step away, but his free hand wrapped around my wrist again. His knees gripped me tighter and his hand pressed into the flesh of my back. “It would help if you’d declare a truce for a while,” I suggested to cover the wave of heat that ignited over my skin and the shiver that went through me like I was water. “Give me some time to think.”

He smiled, somewhere between a smirk and a genuine thing. His expression sobered, and he studied me for a long moment. He had always watched me this way, as if I were an equation that didn’t quite tally.

“I want you to know my name,” he said. “The name I was given, not the title I took for myself. Will you have it, Alina?” His knees still pressed into my hips.

I felt my face go slack. I could feel the weight of Nikolai’s ring in my palm back at the Spinning Wheel, the bed under me. I could vanish from the Darkling’s grip, slide back into consciousness and the safety of a stone room hidden in a mountaintop, stop this before it started. I should. This was a line I shouldn’t cross. But I didn’t want to go. Nothing in me wanted to go. Despite everything, I wanted this whispered confidence, this tiny piece of him.

“Yes.”

After a long, lingering moment, he said, “Aleksander.”

There was a beat of silence, then a little laugh escaped me. He arched a brow, a smile tugging at his lips. “What?”

“It’s just. . . it’s so common,” I said around the laugh. I could feel the mirth in my eyes. Such an ordinary name, held by kings and peasants alike. “I knew two Aleksanders at Keramzin alone, more in the army. One of them died that day on the Fold.”

His smile deepened and he cocked his head to the side. It hurt to see him this way. “Will you say it?” he asked.

I hesitated, feeling danger crowd in on me, hissed warnings in my mind.

“Aleksander,” I said, my voice small.

His grin faded, and his gray eyes seemed to flicker.

“Again,” he said.

I hesitated, then whispered, “Aleksander.”

He leaned in. I felt his breath against my neck, then the press of his mouth against my skin just above the collar, almost a sigh.

I jerked back, but he held me tighter. His hand went to the nape of my neck, long fingers twining in my hair, easing my head back. I closed my eyes and something, almost a soft whine, escaped me. It hadn’t felt like this with Nikolai. I wasn’t sure anything had ever felt like this. “Don’t,” I said.

“Let me,” he murmured against my throat. His heel hooked around my leg, bringing me closer. I felt the heat of his tongue, the flex of hard muscle beneath bare skin as he guided my hands around his waist. “It isn’t real,” he said. “Let me.”

“Of course it’s real,” I whispered. But I felt that rush of hunger, the steady, longing beat of desire that neither of us wanted, but that gripped us anyway. We were alone in the world, unique. We were bound together and always would be. He was a murderer. A monster. He had tormented me, tortured my friends, and slaughtered almost everyone I had tried to protect.

His hands slid up and down my back and the heat of his breath caressed my skin as his lips and tongue moved over it, drinking me in as if he needed it to live.

“I. . . .” It was little more than a breath. I had no idea what I even wanted to say. I couldn’t think, I could only feel electricity over my skin and every place he touched me as it burned. As a piece of something in my chest pulled toward him, toward the only person who would ever be able to truly understand me. “Aleksander,” I breathed.

He took my mouth with a hunger and ferocity that dwarfed that night so long ago in the Queen’s sitting room. His hands moved to my backside, pulling me into him. Without thinking, I was kissing him back, matching his heat and need and adding my own. It was like the desperation I’d felt while kissing Nikolai, multiplied a hundred times. A thousand. It was a forest fire, a lightning storm over the plains. He was a liar. He was ruthless and manipulative. And he was the one person who had never asked me to hold back. He knew what eternity looked like. He knew what it was to continue when everyone around you died, when the world changed and only you remained.

I let my hands rove up his sides and to his front, feeling the hard planes of muscle. I brushed gentle fingertips over the pink skin where his wound had been, and he shivered. It felt like a triumph. I pushed in toward him and half lifted myself onto the table, was half lifted by his strong hands around my waist. I settled over his thighs, my hands weaving into his hair to hold him to me.

“Alina,” he breathed as he finally broke the kiss. I whined a complaint, but his mouth moved along my jaw and my head fell back, baring my neck to him. He slid his teeth along my skin, he nipped and nibbled, he pressed kisses against my skin and sucked on it, he ran his tongue over it as if I were life itself. I saw my own desperation in him, my own need, and it frightened me.

It only made me want more. I ground against him and fierce, possessive satisfaction welled in me when I felt how hard he already was. His fingers turned to talons as they dug into my hips, encouraging the movement. His breath was hot and fast and fanning over my skin, making the places his lips and teeth and tongue had been even more sensitive. He ran his hands up my front, over the plane of my stomach, over my breasts, up to my neck and then back down again.

I wanted him. I needed him. I needed what he could give me. Place, connection, understanding, sense in a world that increasingly felt like it was coming apart around me. I slid my hands over his stomach toward his trousers, and felt the muscles in it jump. I put hands to his buckle and felt a moan in his chest that rumbled up and out--

I shoved away from him, eyes wide and brows drawn and chest heaving. What was I doing? I couldn’t do this, was I mad?

His eyes narrowed, and he was breathing every bit as hard as I was. “I grow weary of this game, Alina.”

“This is the farthest thing from a game,” I snapped, unexpected rage in my voice.

I could see a retort on his lips, but at the last moment, he stopped himself. His face calmed and his brows knitted together. He stood and took a step toward me, canting his head. “No,” he said, half in disbelief, and half as if working through a puzzle. His eyes narrowed. “You’ve been with the tracker for months.”

“He has a name,” I spat. Then it dawned on me what he meant, and I felt my own face go slack. I took another step back, but he was suddenly in front of me, gripping my arms, keeping me from pulling away.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked, his voice achingly rough.

I tried to wrench free of his grip, but it only tightened. I opened my mouth to give an angry reply, but stopped. I remembered all those nights in his chambers at the Little Palace. Instead of a retort, a jab, I simply admitted, “I don't trust you.”

He looked at me, searching. “What are you afraid of, Alina?” It was as if I hadn't answered at all. “Your power? Taking what you deserve? Or is it power in general you fear?”

I felt my face go cold, and then flat and expressionless. “Grasshoppers,” I lied blithely.

He waited, unaffected by what should have seemed random, provoking.

I shrugged, flippant. “They have spindly legs. Jump right at your face out of nowhere. Creepy little things, with those big eyes, huge mandibles. Grasshoppers. Scariest things in the world.” I said flatly, my face stone.

He considered me. “It might interest you to know I was afraid of the dark, once.”

I couldn’t hide the shock on my face.

“I feared my own power, long ago. I feared everything that I was.”

I found I couldn’t imagine that. I watched him, waiting for whatever angle he was trying to present itself.

He let his grip on my arms loosen and slid his hands slowly down them. A trill went up my spine. His touch dropped away and he stepped back to lean against the table, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His arms folded over his lithe, muscled chest, and he looked at me, seeming unconcerned with his tousled hair or fast breaths or the bulge in his pants. I kept my eyes fixed carefully on his face, but his lips twitched, as if he knew how much effort it was taking.

“When I was young,” he said, his voice cool and smooth once more, and I couldn’t help a swell of anger at how easy he made it seem, “being Grisha meant you had four paths in life. Hide, be murdered, be tortured and then murdered, or be enslaved. Fjerda wasn’t the only enemy of the Grisha. Every nation hunted us, feared us, hated us. We were buried alive, drowned in rivers, crushed slowly under piles of stone. Those were the kind deaths, and death was the best you could hope for if you were found. There was no Second Army. There was no safe place.

“The only people more in danger than Grisha were amplifiers. Grisha were hunted by otkazat’sya. Grisha amplifiers were hunted by everyone. There was a third class, however. People were very superstitious back then, much more than they are today. What do you imagine they made of powers like mine, Alina?”

I felt myself pale, and a brief, twisted smile crossed his lips.

“Yes. And yet if they found out what our bones could do for them, they wouldn’t have hesitated to murder me, to murder Baghra, and wear them like jewels. So I learned from a very young age to fear everything that I was. To hide it. To hate it. To be occupied by that fear, owned by it, every moment of my life, whether I was awake or asleep. I was forbidden from touching any other person, because doing so would be suicide.”

I couldn't help myself. “What happened?” I whispered. “What changed?”

He shrugged. “My fears came to pass. I was discovered. I survived by using my power, by forcing myself to embrace what I had feared and pushed away. That was how I discovered how to stop being afraid.

“I came to understand that the world had to change. And I knew that I could change it. It was what I was born for, after all, what I had been raised to do. If I wanted to be safe, to stop running, to live in a world where I didn't have to shrink and hide in fear, if I wanted that for every other Grisha in the world, then I had to stop running and take control. So I did. I bided my time, I planned, I worked and studied. Eventually I was able to form the Second Army. But we were still hunted and hated. People were still crushed under the heel of foolish, selfish men on thrones, pushed aside in favor of petty desires, of greed, of hunger.

“You think me harsh. You think me unforgiving and cruel. But you have seen nothing of the world, Alina, not compared to me. Your otkazat'sya are nothing - they are dust in the wind.” I clenched down against a shiver. Hadn’t I just had that very thought hours ago? “Their lives and deaths pass like the seasons, and we remain. Even the most powerful Grisha are nothing to us.

“We remain, and we come to see the world as it is. We see patterns they can’t. We see everything in ways they will never be able to. Eventually, we learn the truth. Not the immediacy of now, not the stunted view of planning and worrying over this generation, over the next, of the next fifty years, the next hundred, but the truth of the way things are and always will be. Of what is truly possible, and what isn’t.

“They hurry through their lives, fighting and bickering over inconsequential prizes without ever seeing the truth of themselves or the world. They are born and they die, in an endless cycle, a river they cannot escape, in their own small space which sits in a full, whole world they can’t conceive of.”

He pushed away from the desk. “I have seen empires built and flourish and destroy themselves from the inside. I have seen countless rulers seize power and be unseated. It didn’t matter whether they were tyrants or heroes. Generations are nothing to me. Monarchies and dynasties are nothing. But every one of them, Alina, every one, seeks its own destruction. The seeds of it are sown the moment they are created. You’ve seen enough of the King to know he isn't fit to rule a latrine. But I have served under far worse. I have seen far worse, so many times I stopped counting long ago. I had to.

“You have learned more quickly than I ever did when I was young - have you started to see it yet? The cracks? In the way you have see the world, in the way you think, in your reasoning? In the hurry and immediacy of everything they do, in their short-term thinking? Have you begun to truly think about what it will mean to watch everyone you know and everything you care about crumble? Not once, not twice, not ten times or a hundred, while you alone remain?

“What will it be like to walk that road alone?” He asked. “What will it be like if I disappear, if you have your way and manage to kill me, only to realize that I didn’t lie to you about any of it? That I was right about everything, and that you are utterly, completely alone in all the world?”

“Stop.” My voice came out as little more than a whisper.

He pressed on mercilessly. “That you are the only person who will ever know what it means to see the truth? You’ll watch your tracker die. You’ll watch your prince die. You’ll watch as their bones decay and turn to dust. You’ll see the same for their great great great great great grandchildren, for the weapons they held, the thrones they sat on, the nations they ruled, the forests they hunted in--”

“Stop!” I cried.

“Why?” He asked, and there was something angry and hateful and bitter in his voice. “So you can go back to pretending you’re one of them? So you can go back to wasting still more lives in the futile effort of fighting me? Fighting peace and stability? So you can lie to yourself, and to them, and carry on hiding in whatever hole you’ve found? Why would I let you do that?”

My back bumped into a wall. I hadn’t even realized I had been backing up. The Darkling strode forward, his eyes fixed on mine. I couldn’t look away.

“What are you afraid of, Alina?” He asked again. “Do you even know? What do you think the world you’re fighting for is going to look like once your Prince is dead and the next undeserving fool claims the throne, without you at his side to make sure he doesn’t rob and torment his own people? What do you think will happen when they finally kill _you?”_

He stopped a foot in front of me. “Come home,” he said. His voice was like a caress, and I felt something in my chest crack so solidly that I almost feared it was bone.

“I’m an orphan,” I whispered automatically. “I have no home.”

“You once told me otherwise. It’s waiting for you here. Or are you still clinging to those childish ideals? How many more lives will have to be sacrificed before you open your eyes?”

“How many more will you have to kill, you mean? Tell me again how they’re on my head.”

“None of them would have been lost if you hadn’t fled. If you didn’t continue to fight me.”

“If I had stayed I would have been a toy, I would have fought you at best or become hollow and dead inside. And you would have remained alone and unfulfilled. If I hadn’t fought you, do you really, truly see a future where we might have been equals? Where you wouldn’t still feel empty?” I spat. “You can’t control an equal, it doesn’t work that way. And you don’t handle differences of opinion well. The only reason you really want these things now is _because_ of what I’ve done. Because I’ve refused to fall in line and mindlessly obey. What exactly did you think balance and a check on your power was supposed to look like? Another person who kissed your feet? Or did you just want someone to agree with you and take away your guilt and doubt?” He had them, I knew he did. He might be a master at pretending otherwise, but he was not so inhuman as to be able to escape those most basic of things.

I expected anger. Instead, one side of his lips twitched. His face sobered and his eyes dropped to my throat. He raised a hand and gently traced the scar, faint and barely there, that ran over its surface. His eyes followed its progress. “I have seen your revolution, Alina. I have seen it crushed, and I have seen it won. I have seen the Lantsov boy take the throne. You think he’s worthy of it. The nation may begin to heal under him. It may even prosper. For a time. But there are always more of the King and his idiot son than there are those who care for anything outside of their own gratification. There are always invaders. There are always dissidents and rebels. The world seeks to destroy good men.

“It’s easy to cling to illusions and hard to let them go. It might surprise you how well I know the truth of that. But you won’t have a choice for long. You’ve proven too intelligent to continue to ignore the truth."

His hand came to rest, gently, on the side of my neck. 

“Wait. Wait a few hundred years, and you'll see for yourself. You'll look back and realize that all the time you fought me was wasted. That all the lives lost between us were wasted. Or you can listen to me now and recognize that what I’m telling you is the truth. Admit it to yourself. You can save us both this ridiculous battle and hundreds or thousands of lives turned to so many more graves.”

I looked at him until his eyes snapped back up to mine. His cool fingers came to rest around my throat, gently, before sliding down to lay over the center of my chest. I opened my mouth to speak, but I couldn’t make any words come out, so just closed it again.

“I’m about to change the game, Alina,” he murmured. His hand slid up to hold the side of my head, resting over my cheek, fingers parted around my ear. “Come home. Before more blood falls between us. Before something happens that can’t be taken back.”

I jerked, eyes going wide. Of course. Of course he had something planned. I felt myself go cold, and I twisted out of his reach. My face and voice went hard. “What are you going to do?”

"What has to be done." He smiled, smug and cool and certain. “Ask David. Ask him what secrets he left for me to discover at the palace.” I stilled. He was as calm and relaxed as if we were discussing plans for an outing. “Ask him what I can do without a Sun Summoner. And tell Western Ravka to prepare itself. Tell them I’m coming. Tell them I’m bringing the Fold.

“Or come here and give me an alternative.”

I gaped at him, horrified, but collected myself quickly. He couldn’t. It wasn’t possible. _You have no idea what I can make possible,_ he’d once said to Mal.

“Don’t pretend you’d stop if I did,” I spat.

An unnerving smile spread over his lips. “Tell me I haven’t surprised you before.”

I hesitated, torn between returning to my room, spewing anger at him, and trying to argue with him. “Please don’t do this,” I managed. “If you were serious, then give me time. I’ll come up with something.”

“Ravka has no more time. It has waited long enough. And so have I.”

I looked at him and felt sorrow wash over my face, replaced immediately by fury. “The only thing about you that has surprised me is finding out just how evil you’re willing to be. Continue to prove me right. See how close it gets you to what you really want.”

I vanished.

 

* * * * *

 

I clutched at my torso, heart hammering in my chest, still feeling my rage, made infinitely worse by realizing how utterly foolish I had been to get my hopes up for even a moment, to believe him for even a moment. I sat up and pushed away from my bed, ignoring the angry pace of my breath, and filled my room with soft light. I found my boots and shoved my feet into them, then threw a coat over my nightclothes and left the room without even pausing to fasten it.

Tamar was standing guard outside my room.

“Where is David lodged?” I asked angrily.

“Just down the corridor with Adrik and Harshaw.”

“Get Mal and Tolya up,” I snapped. “Catch up to me.”

She slipped into the guards’ room, and the three of them were with me seconds later, awake instantly in the way of soldiers, and pulling on their boots as we went. Mal had his pistol.

“You don’t need that,” I said. “If someone’s going to die tonight, it will be because I strangle him with my bare hands.”

I considered sending someone to get Nikolai, but I wanted to know what we were dealing with first. Enough questions would already need answering without his added in.

We strode quickly down the hall, and when we got to David’s room, Tamar rapped once at the door before pushing in.

Apparently, Adrik and Harshaw had been evicted for the night. A very bleary Genya and David blinked up at us from beneath the covers of a single narrow cot.

I paused long enough to arch a brow. “Congratulations,” I said flatly. “Now get up and get dressed. You have one minute.”

“What’s—” Genya began.

_“Now.”_

Tamar closed the door.

Mal gave a little cough. “Can’t say I’m surprised,” he said quietly.

“After his little speech in the war room, even I considered pouncing on him,” Tamar replied.

Moments later, the door cracked open and a disheveled, barefoot David ushered us in. Genya was seated cross-legged on the cot, her red curls going every which way.

“What is it?” said David. “What’s wrong?”

“That depends on you,” I said. “I’ve just found out that the Darkling intends to use the Fold against West Ravka.”

“Did Nikolai—” Tamar began.

“No questions,” I snapped. “If it happens, it will be because you made it possible, David. Now tell me how.” It was cruel, and I would likely regret it later, but I was too angry and afraid to care.

“Alina--” Genya tried to protest.

“Quiet,” I snapped, my eyes on David’s uncertain face.

He shook his head, eyes going wide. “I didn’t-- He can’t without you. He needs to enter the Unsea to expand it.”

“Think hard, David,” I said coldly. “Because it seems you left some things behind at the Little Palace. Things he can now use against us all. Secrets? Ideas? Theories? Prototypes? Anything. I’m not asking for likelihoods or even possibilities. I want to know what he might think to use. He’s made the impossible happen before.” _Tell me I haven’t surprised you before._

“Wait a minute,” said Genya. “Where is this information coming from?”

“Later,” I said sharply. “And I swear to every Saint, if one more person interrupts me, I will lock you all out on one of the balconies in your nightclothes and David and I will have this out alone.” I looked back to him expectantly.

He frowned. “When we fled Os Alta, I left my old notebooks behind, but they’re hardly dangerous.”

“That depends on whose hands they’re in. What was in them?”

“All kinds of things,” he said, his nimble fingers pleating and unpleating the fabric of his trousers. “The designs for the mirrored dishes, a lens to filter different waves of the spectrum, nothing he could use to enter the Fold. But. . . .” He paled slightly.

My stomach fell. “What?”

“It was just an idea--”

I stared him down until he went on.

“There was a plan for a glass skiff that Nikolai and I came up with.”

I frowned and glanced at Mal, then at the others. They all looked as puzzled as I did. “What good is a glass skiff?”

“The frame is made to hold lumiya.”

“Which is?” I asked impatiently.

“A variation on liquid fire.”

I paled. “David, please, please tell me you’re not that foolish. Morozova himself destroyed that formula hours after creating it.” Liquid fire was sticky, flammable, and created a blaze that was almost impossible to extinguish.

“No!” David held his hands up defensively. “No, no. This is better, safer. The reaction only creates light, not heat. I came up with it when we were trying to find ways to improve the flash bombs for fighting the nichevo’ya. It wasn’t applicable, but I liked the idea so I kept it for. . . for later.” He shrugged helplessly.

“It burns without heat?”

“It’s just a source of artificial sunlight.”

“And you two thought it would be enough to keep the volcra at bay?” I guessed.

“Yes, but it’s useless to the Darkling. It has a limited burn life, and you need sunlight to activate it.”

I felt myself go cold. “How much sunlight?”

“Alina?” Mal asked, worried, taking in my appearance.

“How. Much?” I repeated sharply.

“Very little, that was the point. It was just another way of magnifying your power, like the dishes. But there isn’t any light in the Fold, so he wouldn’t be able to use it.”

My eyes slipped closed.

“Go wake Nikolai,” I rhasped. “Have him meet us in the war room. _Now.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The junk about his past is canon, from Bardugo's great short, [The Demon In The Wood.](https://smile.amazon.com/Demon-Wood-Darkling-Prequel-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B012N6FAB2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1502302329&sr=8-1&keywords=demon+in+the+wood+leigh+bardugo)
> 
> \- - - - -
> 
> 8/13/17: Alina's answer to "why are you doing this" changed from "I'm afraid." It didn't fit her character.  
> 1/17/17: Wee tweaks


	11. The One Thing

Ten minutes later, we were seated at the end of a table in the galley, rather than the war room. Mal had suggested it, and since it was the middle of the night and I could feel my surroundings without concentrating now, I had no objection. Glasses of tea sat in front of us. Genya had declined to come, but she was the only one who I gave a choice to. David’s head was bent over a pile of drafting paper as he tried to re-create the plans for the glass skiff and the formula for lumiya from memory. I knew he hadn’t aided the Darkling intentionally, but he hadn’t needed to. The Darkling was almost as hungry for knowledge - for any possible advantage, in his case - as David was.

The rest of the Spinning Wheel was empty and silent, patrols of soldiers and rogue Grisha ordered to stay well away from our meeting. Despite being hauled out of bed in the middle of the night, Nikolai managed to look put together, even with his olive drab coat thrown over his nightshirt and trousers. It hadn’t taken long to update him on all I had learned, and I wasn’t surprised by the first question out of his mouth.

“How long have you known this?” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I sent for you the minute I knew.I didn’t see a point in waking you before that, and I went straight to David to confirm the information.”

“It’s impossible—”

“Really?” I looked at him flatly. “You of all people are going to use that word?” I huffed a sigh and lifted my hand before he could ask me any more. I knew I had to tell him the rest, had to tell all of them, but I was in no hurry to get there. So I made shadows spill over the walls and a tiny wisp of darkness gather in my hand.

David shoved away from the table with a clatter of pen and ink, his glasses going askew on his nose. Nikolai shot to his feet, and Tolya and Tamar’s hands went to their weapons. Only Mal and I were calm.

I dropped my hand, and the shadows returned to their ordinary forms. Everyone gaped at me.

“How long have you been able to do this?” Nikolai asked. He actually looked unsettled.

“Since my recovery after the fight in the chapel. I only have a scrap of his power, but it’s safe to assume that if I came away with this, he walked away with something of mine, too.”

“That’s how you made the shadows jump when we were in the Kettle,” said Tolya.

I nodded.

Tamar jabbed a finger at Mal. “You lied to us.”

“I kept her secret,” Mal said. “You would have done the same.”

“As I would have expected you to,” I said, looking seriously at her and Tolya.

She crossed her arms. Tolya laid a big hand on her shoulder. They all looked upset, but not as scared as they might have. I supposed that was good. Or a sign of just how bad things had gotten lately.

“You said a scrap,” Nikolai pointed out. “Enough to hold off the volcra?”

I looked at him levelly. “Do you recognize what David has been recreating?” I nodded toward the paper he’d been hunched over, the plans that had been little more than scribbles when Nikolai had come in. He leaned over for another look and I saw him go rigid.

“Now you see the problem,” I said darkly.

“He only needs enough sunlight to activate the lumiya once he’s in the Fold,” David said miserably.

“Plenty of light for protection,” said Mal. “A well-armed skiff of Grisha and soldiers. . . .”

Tamar shook her head. “Even for the Darkling, that seems risky.”

But Tolya answered her with my own thoughts. “You’re forgetting the nichevo’ya.”

“Saints,” swore Tamar. “Shadow soldiers fighting volcra? Who do you root for?”

“The problem was always containment,” said David. “Lumiya eats through everything. The only thing that worked was glass, but that presents its own engineering problems. Nikolai and I never resolved them. It was just. . . just for fun.”

“It was a good idea, David,” I said. “He has a way of twisting those.”

“He’s going to break West Ravka,” Nikolai said tightly. And after that, no country would dare to stand with me or him. “But how do you know all this? You said all but one of your Grisha are here. Did you gather spies among the servants?

I glanced at Mal, remembering exactly how well he had taken the news that I had been seeing the Darkling. That was before I had known his appearances hadn’t been visions or hallucinations. This was far worse, because I’d gone looking for him, and it wasn’t the first time. “I don’t have spies,” I began slowly. “I know this because. . .” I closed my eyes and forced out the words, “the Darkling told me himself. Tonight.”

“Beg your pardon?”

I paused uncomfortably. “Do you remember when I asked you about madness at the Little Palace? And how I told you I was worried he would attack soon?”

Nikolai nodded.

“Well. . . I had been seeing him. The first time was when I almost got us all killed crossing the Fold. I was sure I was losing my mind, but when I saw him at the chapel on your birthday, he told me it had all been real. In the White Cathedral, I learned the connection that let him come to me worked both ways. I can visit him, like a kind of vision. And tonight I. . . I sought him out.”

There was a long beat. “You can spy on him?”

I nearly laughed, because of course that was the first place Nikolai’s mind went. “No. Not exactly.” I explained the way rooms appeared to me. “It’s as if he’s the only real, material thing. Unless he’s very close to someone or to something, I can’t make them out or even really hear them. If something touches him, it becomes as real and solid as he is. I doubt he’d be sloppy enough to let me see or hear anything he didn’t want me to.”

Nikolai’s fingers were drumming on the tabletop. “But we could try to probe for information,” he said, his voice excited, “maybe even feed him false intelligence.” That quickly, Nikolai was strategizing. “Can you do this with other Grisha? Maybe try to get in their heads?”

I shook my head. “The Darkling and I are. . . we have a. . . connection. A tie. We probably always will.”

“Why would he tell you this? Is it a trap?”

I laughed, breathy and harsh. “Because he wants me to see it coming. He wants me, us, to know that we can’t stop him, even when we’re prepared.”

“I have to warn West Ravka,” he said. “They’ll need to evacuate the area along the shore of the Fold.” Nikolai rubbed a hand over his face. It was the first crack I’d seen in his confidence.

“They won’t keep to the alliance, will they?” Mal asked.

“I doubt it. The blockade was a gesture West Ravka was willing to make when they thought they were safe from reprisal.”

“If they capitulate,” said Tamar, “will the Darkling still march?”

“This isn’t about the blockade,” I said grimly. “Not really. It’s about isolating _us,_ making sure we don’t have anywhere to turn. It has the added benefit of leaving everyone else even more terrified of him than they already are.

“He wants this crushed. And he wants me back. He’ll do anything to make that happen. It’s about power, the want of it and the ability to use it. He has wanted to use the Fold ever since he created it.” I restrained the urge to touch my bare wrist. “It’s a compulsion.”

“Ever since he _what?”_ Nikolai asked.

“I thought you had guessed,” I said quietly to him. “At least when you found out about Baghra. He’s not a descendent of the Black Heretic, Nikolai. Since the beginning, there has only ever been one Darkling. I tried to estimate his age once. I ended up figuring he was at least seven hundred years old.”

Nikolai sat down. Tolya’s hand tightened on his weapon until his knuckles went as white as Tamar’s face.

“What kind of numbers can you raise?” Mal asked Nikolai gently.

“I--” He seemed to give himself a shake. “All told? We could probably rally a force of roughly five thousand. They’re spread throughout cells in the northwest, so the problem is mobilizing, but I think it can be done. We also have reason to suspect some of the militias may be loyal to us. There have been massive desertions from the base at Poliznaya and the northern and southern fronts.”

“The Soldat Sol will fight,” Tolya said. “I know they would lay down their lives for Alina. They’ve done it before.” I gripped the skirt of my nightdress in fists under the table, thinking of more lives lost, thrown at a wall that would not break, of Ruby’s fiercely cheerful face marked by the sunburst tattoo.

Nikolai frowned. “Can we rely on the Apparat? What exactly does he want?”

“Power,” I said, “the same as everyone else. But I think he only really wants it to survive. I would honestly be shocked if he risked a head-on confrontation with the Darkling unless he’s sure of the outcome.”

“We could use the additional numbers,” Nikolai admitted.

“I made certain he knew who was in charge when I left, but without me there personally to make sure any order for support is followed. . . .” A dull ache was forming near my right temple. I rubbed it absently. “I don’t like this,” I said. “I don’t like any of it. We can’t stop the nichevo’ya by throwing bodies at them. We tried that. The casualties will be unheard of, and it won’t end any better than it did last time.”

“We’ll be prepared this time.”

“There is no preparing for him, Nikolai.”

“You know I’ll be right out there with them.”

“Which makes it better how?” I asked angrily. “I appreciate your nobility and honor, you know I do, but all that means is I get to lose one more person I care about against an enemy that can’t be defeated by normal means.”

“If the Darkling uses the Fold to sever us from any possible allies, then Ravka is his. He’ll only get stronger, consolidate his forces. I won’t just give up.”

“I’m not asking you to give up, I--”

“You said it yourself—he won’t stop. He needs to use his power, and the more he uses it, the more he’ll crave. This may be our last opportunity to bring him down. Besides, rumor has it Oretsev here is quite the tracker. If he finds the firebird, we may just stand a chance.”

“And if he doesn’t? If I lose my mind when I take it?”

Nikolai shrugged. “We put on our best clothes and die like heroes.”

 

* * * * *

 

Dawn was breaking by the time we finished hashing out the specifics of what we intended to do next. The Kingfisher had returned, and Nikolai sent it right back out again with a refreshed crew and a warning addressed to West Ravka’s merchant council that the Darkling was likely planning an attack.

They also carried an invitation to meet with him and the Sun Summoner in neutral Kerch. It was too dangerous for Nikolai and me to risk getting caught in what might soon be enemy territory. The Pelican was back in the hangar and would soon depart for Keramzin without us. I wasn’t sure if I was sorry or relieved that I wouldn’t be able to travel with them to the orphanage, but there just wasn’t time for a detour. Mal and his team would leave for the Sikurzoi tomorrow aboard the Bittern, and I would meet up with them a week later. We would keep to our plan and hope the Darkling didn’t act before then.

There was more to discuss, but Nikolai had letters to write, and I needed to talk to Baghra. Much as I hated it, the time for lessons was past.

I found her in her darkened room, the fire already stoked, the space unbearably warm. Misha had just brought in her breakfast tray. I waited as she ate her buckwheat kasha and sipped bitter black tea. When she was done, Misha opened the book to begin his reading, but Baghra silenced him quickly.

“Take the tray up,” she said. “The little Saint has something on her mind. If we make her wait any longer, she may jump out of her seat and shake me.”

Did nothing escape her?

Misha lifted the tray. Then he hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other. “Do I have to come right back down?”

“Stop wriggling like a grub,” Baghra snapped, and Misha froze. She gave a wave. “Go on, you useless thing, but don’t be late with my lunch.”

He raced out the door, dishes rattling, and kicked it shut behind him.

“This is your fault,” Baghra complained. “He can never be still anymore.”

“He’s a little boy. He’s not supposed to be still.” I made a mental note to have someone continue Misha’s fencing lessons while we were gone.

Baghra scowled and leaned closer to the fire, pulling her furs close around her. I added a warm halo, careful to keep it as far away from me as possible in the tiny space. “Well,” she said, “we’re alone. What is it you want to know? Or would you rather sit there biting your tongue for another hour?”

I wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“Either spit it out or let me take a nap.”

“The Darkling may have found a way to enter the Fold without me. He’ll be able to use it as a weapon whenever he wants. Is there anything you haven’t told us?”

“Always the same question.”

“That tends to happen when it’s an important question and you’re not getting the answer. When I asked you if Morozova could have left the amplifiers unfinished, you said it wasn’t his way. You said you wished you could have seen his stag. Did you. . . did you know him?”

“We’re done here, girl,” she said, turning back to the fire. “You’ve wasted your morning.”

“So that’s a yes, then,” I said tightly. “You told me once that you hoped for redemption for your son. This is probably my last chance.”

“Ah, so you hope to save my son now? How forgiving of you.”

“It isn’t about forgiveness,” I snapped. I made myself stop, take a breath. It was far too early in this conversation to be losing my temper. I asked as gently as I could, “How well do you know him, Baghra?”

She laughed harshly. “I’ve spent hundreds of years with the boy. Lived through things with him that can’t be described. I’m the only one who knows him.” She sneered.

“I’m wondering if maybe you haven’t missed something, somewhere along the way.” She scoffed, and I shifted in my seat. A question I hadn’t even worked up the courage to think about asking rose to my lips.“If he got what he wanted, if he got control of everyone, what would the world look like, in the end?”

“What difference would it make? You plan on stopping him. Or has that changed?” she asked. Her tone was the same as the day she had seen through my lies about how lonely I was, then used that truth to barb me until I found my hidden stores of power.

Too sharp, she was too sharp. “It hasn’t,” I said. “But. . . .” I bit down hard on the inside of my lip, then made myself sit straighter. “Maybe it would help if I rephrased the question. What would the world look like if _Aleksander_ ruled it?”

She stilled. I waited. “That name. . . .” Baghra leaned back in her chair. “Only he could have told you. When?”

“Late last night. I went to see him. We had a long talk about eternity and the foolishness of mortals, about trust and my return to the Little Palace. Somewhere in the middle, he told me his name. When I spoke it. . . .” My eyes went distant, remembering the way he had seemed to come apart in front of me. “It isn’t that I don’t still want to stop him. It’s that I’m starting to think beyond this war. Beyond victory or defeat, beyond Nikolai and his rule. Your son told me that history was filled with wars, with selfish, abusive people taking power, with good men being cut down, and with humans doing their best to kill one another. I believe him. And I don’t want that for the world.

“He told me. . . .” I paused. For some reason I didn’t understand, the words were hard to force past my lips. “He told me he wanted me to be his balance. To keep his power in check. It isn’t that I don’t want to stop him,” I repeated. “But I’m wondering if there isn’t an option I haven’t considered outside of ‘win’ or ‘lose.’

“I know he wants power. I know he wants to use it. I know what that feels like now. I also know that I probably know nothing next to either of you. But I will. I may live longer than you, longer than him, longer than anyone in history. The only thing that hasn’t changed since the first time you and I met was that I want to help if I can. I’m just not sure helping looks like what I assumed it must. And I think some part of him really does want to help. I think he has just let it get mixed up with everything else over the yea-- over the centuries.”

“And what,” she scoffed, “you’re going to save him?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

She didn’t answer right away. “We can’t always get what we want, girl.”

“I don’t know if I can,” I said seriously. She opened her mouth to bark something at me, but I kept going. “I think people have to save themselves. But I also think sometimes it helps if there’s someone who can show you the way. Who can remind you who you wanted to be, and who you could be. I think he wants that, Baghra. I don’t know if it’s genuine or if it’s just nostalgia because no one has ever turned him down like I have, and he’s trying to tell me what I want to hear. Because apparently he’s never come across anyone who is different the way he is, and who will live as long as him. But it’s there. And I don’t think all of it is an act. I’m sure it was in the beginning, but. . . .” _Something seems different about him. Every time I fight him and win, oddly. . . he almost seems to respect me more._ “But even if I wanted to try, we hardly have a history that encourages trust.”

I had never stopped to consider what it must look like from his perspective. All I had seen was his lies, his manipulation, his deception, his cruelty and murder. All I had seen was that he was wrong. But no one is the villain of their own story. To him, what had it seemed like? I had been dropped into his lap and then, ungrateful, spat in his face every time he held his hand out to me. He’d as good as said so. I had run, I had “betrayed” him, time and again. And time and again, he held that same hand out. But it always held chains. It always held a blindfold.

Was there any way to bridge such a gap? To straighten glass so warped and bent with time? Could I make him see reason? How long had it been since he had even tried to _imagine_ treating someone else as an equal?

“I have no illusions that he’d ever be a Saint,” I said, “or maybe even a truly good person. It must have been hundreds of years since he even felt truly human. But if all of this started because he wanted to help. . . I guess I’d like to think it can return to that place, too. That he can be reminded of why he started all this. Why he stopped fearing power and started chasing it.”

I knew her well enough now to see the surprise she hid.

“He told me he used to be afraid of everything he was, but that he had to embrace it in order to save his life. He told me he got tired of seeing Grisha hunted and the world tearing itself apart. He told me you raised him to take control of it all. To be better than everyone else.”

She went perfectly still. I waited, but she didn’t speak. I waited more, and still she was silent, her blackened eyes staring hard into nothing.

“If he takes this step, Baghra, he’ll be lost forever. I don’t want that to happen.” I _needed_ it not to happen. I needed to know a person could come back from it. “We may all be lost then, gone to a place we can never come back from if he does this. Whether I stop him by _stopping_ him or by finding a way to help him, you and I both know this can’t happen.”

She stared a moment longer. Then, in a voice I had never heard her use before, one that could _almost_ be called something other than harsh and biting, she said, “You're not the first fool to think yourself in love with him, girl.”

My throat closed up and my chest constricted. "I'm not--!" I cut myself off. Made myself calm down. “I was in love with my best friend my whole life, Baghra. That was love. I know it was. Now, with your son. . .” I felt my brows draw together. “I’m not sure I know what that even means anymore. Would it matter, anyway? Whatever might be there isn't love. There's something. . . there’s a tie. Maybe it’s only fear, because I’m starting to understand how alone I’ll be, maybe it’s the connection he’s forged and strengthened, but the thought of a world going on where he has stopped. . . it feels. . . wrong,” I finished, my voice a small whisper. Maybe it was because he was an inextricable part of me now. Maybe I was starting to understand that he had told the truth when he said no one else could understand us.

It was eerie, feeling like Baghra was watching me even without eyes, and feeling like she was _still_ seeing more than I wanted her to.

“But it doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t even if I did. I learned a saying on the way here. ‘Despise your heart.’ I’ll do what I have to.” I let that settle between us, then repeated my question. “Baghra, did you know Morozova?”

She was quiet for a long time, the only sound the crackle of the fire. Finally, she said, “As well as anyone did.”

Though I’d suspected as much, the fact sent a jolt through me. It was hard to believe. I’d seen Morozova’s writings, I wore his amplifiers, I had studied him in the istorii sankt’ya and seen statues and murals of him. But he had never seemed real. He was a Saint with a gilded halo, more legend than man.

“There’s a bottle of kvas on a shelf in the corner,” she said, “out of Misha’s reach. Bring it and a glass.”

It was early for kvas, but I was hardly going to argue. I brought down the bottle and poured for her.

She took a long sip and smacked her lips together. “The new King doesn’t stint, does he?” She sighed and settled back. She sounded far away. “All right, little Saint, since you want to know about Morozova and his precious amplifiers, I’ll tell you a story—one I used to tell a little boy with dark hair, a silent boy who rarely laughed, who listened more closely than I realized. A boy who had a name and not a title.”

In the firelight, the shadowy pools of her eyes seemed to flicker and shift.

“Morozova was the Bonesmith, one of the greatest Fabrikators who ever lived, and a man who tested the very boundaries of Grisha power, but he was also just a man with a wife. She was otkazat’sya, and though she loved him, she did not understand him.”

I thought of the way the Darkling talked about otkazat’sya, the predictions he’d made about Mal and the way I’d be treated by Ravka’s people. Had he learned those lessons from Baghra?

“I should tell you that he loved her too,” she continued. “At least, I think he did. But it was never enough to make him stop his work. It couldn’t temper the need that drove him. This is the curse of Grisha power. You know the way of it, little Saint, just as you say.

“They spent over a year hunting the stag in Tsibeya, two years sailing the Bone Road in search of the sea whip. Great successes for the Bonesmith. The first two phases of his grand scheme. But when his wife became pregnant, they settled in a small town, a place where he could continue his experiments and hatch his plans for which creature would become the third amplifier.

“They had little money. When he could be pulled away from his studies, he made his living as a woodworker, and the villagers occasionally came to him with wounds and ailments—”

“He was a Healer?” I asked. “I thought he was a Fabrikator.”

“Morozova did not draw those distinctions. Few Grisha did in those days. He believed if the science was small enough, anything was possible. And for him, it often was.” _Are we not all things?_

“The townspeople viewed Morozova and his family with a combination of pity and distrust. His wife wore rags, and his child. . . his child was rarely seen. Her mother kept her to the house and the fields around it. You see, this little girl had started to show her power early, and it was like nothing ever known.” Baghra took another sip of kvas. “She could summon darkness.”

The words hung in the heated air, their meaning settling over me. “You?” I breathed. “But that means the Darkling—”

“I am Morozova’s daughter, and the Darkling is the last of Morozova’s line.” She emptied her glass. “My mother was terrified of me. She was sure that my power was some kind of abomination, the result of my father’s experiments. And she may well have been right. To dabble in merzost, well, the results are never quite what one would hope. She hated to hold me, could hardly bear to be in the same room with me. It was only when her second child was born that she came back to herself at all. Another little girl, this one normal like her, powerless and pretty. How my mother doted on her.”

Years had passed, hundreds, maybe a thousand. But I recognized the hurt in her voice, the sting of always feeling underfoot and unwanted. “My father was readying to leave to hunt the firebird. I was just a little girl, but I begged him to take me along. I tried to make myself useful, but all I did was annoy him, and eventually he banned me from his workshop.”

She tapped the table, and I filled her glass once more. This time, I followed it by taking a long drink straight from the bottle.

“And then one day, Morozova had to leave his workbench. He was drawn to the pasture behind his home by the sound of my mother’s screams. I had been playing dolls and my sister had whined and howled and stamped her little feet until my mother insisted that I give over my favorite toy, a wooden swan carved by our father in one of the rare moments that he’d paid me any attention. It had wings so detailed they felt nearly downy and perfect webbed feet that kept it balanced in water. My sister had it in her hand less than a minute before she snapped its slender neck. Remember, if you can, that I was just a child, a lonely child, with so few treasures of my own.” She lifted her glass but did not drink. “I lashed out at my sister. With the Cut. I tore her in two.”

I tried not to picture it, but the image rose up sharp in my mind, a muddy field, a dark-haired little girl, her favorite toy in pieces. She’d been hurt and she’d thrown a tantrum, as children do. But she’d been no ordinary child. I hardly breathed.

“What happened?” I finally whispered.

“The villagers came running. They held my mother back so that she could not get at me. They couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. How could a little girl have done such a thing? The priest was already praying over my sister’s body when my father arrived. Without a word, Morozova knelt down beside her and began to work. The townspeople didn’t understand what was happening, but they sensed power gathering.”

“Did he save her?”

“Yes,” said Baghra simply. “He was a great Healer, and he used every bit of his skill to bring her back—weak, wheezing, and scarred, but alive.”

I’d read countless versions of Sankt Ilya’s martyrdom. The details of the story had been distorted over time: He’d healed his child, not a stranger’s. A girl, not a boy. The victim of Grisha power, not a plough or a horse cart. But I suspected one thing that hadn’t changed was the ending, and I shivered knowing what must come next.

“It was too much,” Baghra said. “The villagers knew what death looked like—that child should have died. And maybe they were resentful too. How many loved ones had they lost to illness or injury since Morozova had come to their town? How many could he have saved? Maybe it was not just horror or righteousness that drove them, but anger as well. They put him in chains—and my sister, a child who should have had the sense to stay dead. There was no one to defend my father, no one to speak on my sister’s behalf. We had lived on the outskirts of their lives and made no friends. They marched him to the river. My sister had to be carried. She had only just learned to walk and couldn’t manage it with the chains.”

I clenched my fists in my lap. I didn’t want to hear the rest.

“As my mother wailed and pleaded, as I cried and fought to get free from some barely known neighbor’s arms, they shoved Morozova and his youngest daughter off the bridge, and we watched them disappear beneath the water, dragged under by the weight of their iron chains.” Baghra emptied her glass and turned it over on the table. “I never saw my father or my sister again.”

We sat in silence as I tried to piece together the implications of what she’d said. I saw no tears on Baghra’s cheeks. _Her grief is ancient,_ I reminded myself. And yet I didn’t think pain like that ever faded entirely. Grief had its own life, took its own sustenance.

“If,” I said, pushing on, ruthless in my own way, “if he died--”

“I never said he died. That was the last I ever saw of him. But he was a Grisha of immense power. He might well have survived the fall.”

“In chains? Drowned?”

“He was the greatest Fabrikator who ever lived. It would take more than otkazat’sya steel to hold him.”

“Did you look for him?”

“Of course I did.”

“And you believe he went on to create the third amplifier.”

“His work was his life,” she said, and the bitterness of that neglected child edged her words. “If he’d had breath in his body, he would not have stopped searching for the firebird. Would you?”

“No,” I admitted. It had become my own obsession, a thread of compulsion that linked me to Morozova across centuries. But I wondered now if it should be. It had claimed Morozova. It had claimed a boy named Aleksander. Would this hunger, this need I couldn’t set aside claim me? All the warnings Baghra had given me about the amplifiers, about pursuing power, took on new life in my mind. And yet. . . .

Could Morozova have survived? Baghra seemed certain that he had. And what about her sister? If Morozova had managed to save himself, surely he would have rescued his child from the grasp of the river and used his skill to revive her once more. Perhaps he had even tried to return to his family, but how would he know where to look for them? If he lived, perhaps he even began a new family, eventually. The thoughts shook me. I wanted to clutch it tightly, the notion that he had gone on, to turn it over in my hands. “What did the villagers do to you?”

Her rasping chuckle snaked through the room, lifting the hair on my arms. “If they’d been wise, they would have thrown me in the river too. Instead they drove my mother and me out of town and left us to the mercy of the woods. My mother was useless. She tore at her hair and wept until she made herself sick. Finally, she just lay down and wouldn’t get up, no matter how I cried and called her name. I stayed with her as long as I could. I tried to make a fire to keep her warm, but I didn’t know how.” She shrugged. “I was so hungry. Eventually, I left her and wandered, delirious and filthy, until I came to a farm. They took me in and put together a search party, but I couldn’t find the way back to her. For all I know, she starved to death on the forest floor.”

I stayed quiet, waiting.

“Ravka was different then. Grisha had no sanctuary. Power like ours ended in fates like my father’s. I kept mine hidden. I followed tales of witches and Saints and found the secret enclaves where Grisha studied their science. I learned everything I could. And when the time came, I taught my son.”

“What about his father?”

Baghra gave another harsh laugh. “You want a love story too? There’s none to be had. I wanted a child, so I sought out the most powerful Grisha I could find. He was a Heartrender. I don’t even remember his name.”

For a brief moment, I glimpsed the ferocious woman she had been, fearless and wild and determined, a Grisha of extraordinary ability and will. Then she sighed and shifted in her chair, and the illusion was gone, replaced by a tired old woman huddling by a fire.

“My son was not. . . . He began so well. We moved from place to place, we saw the way our people lived, the way they were mistrusted, the lives they were forced to eke out in secrecy and fear. How much did he tell you about that night? When he was attacked?”

“Only that he’d been discovered and had to use his power to save himself.”

“It was the first night he used the Cut. He’d been trying for years.”

Years? I couldn’t imagine him struggling so much with anything, let alone his power. When I realized what she must mean, I whispered, “How old was he?”

“Ten. She wasn’t much older, the girl who tried to kill him. Old enough to understand power, and the want of it.”

I felt myself pale.

“That was the night he vowed that we would someday have a safe place, that Grisha power would be something to be valued and coveted, something our country would treasure. We would be Ravkans, not just Grisha. That dream was the seed of the Second Army. A good dream. If I’d known. . . .”

She shook her head. “I gave him his pride. I taught him he was better than everyone around him. I taught him that to touch another, to be touched, meant death. I taught him that his power was a secret too great for smaller minds to understand. I burdened him with ambition, but the worst thing I did was try to protect him. You must understand, even our own kind shunned us, feared the strangeness of our power. For all their ability, for all their study of natural law, Grisha are no less superstitious than otkazat’sya.”

_There are no others like us._

It felt like something in me was breaking, sinking into a hole from which it could never resurface.

“I never wanted him to feel the way I had as a child,” said Baghra. “So I taught him that he had no equal, that he was destined to bow to no man. I wanted him to be hard, to be strong. I taught him the lesson my mother and father taught me: to rely on no one. That love—fragile and fickle and raw—was nothing compared to power. He was a brilliant boy. He learned too well.”

Baghra’s hand shot out. With surprising accuracy, she seized my wrist. “Put your hunger aside, Alina. Do what Morozova and my son could not and give this up.”

My cheeks were wet with tears. I hurt for her. I hurt for him. “How?”

“By _letting it go.”_

“But the Darkling, how do I--”

“What is infinite?” she recited.

I knew that text well. _The universe and the greed of men._

“Say it.”

I recited the line.

“You may not be able to survive the sacrifice that merzost requires. You tasted that power once, through another, and it almost killed you.”

“Would your father have spent his life’s work on something meant to destroy the person who claimed it?”

“My father was a brilliant fool.”

“Baghra,” I began, my voice pleading.

Baghra shook her head. “Stupid girl,” she said, but her voice was sad, as if she were chastising another girl, from long ago, lost and unwanted, driven by pain and fear.

“I don’t know what else to do,” I begged. “The journals—”

“Years later, I returned to the village of my birth. I wasn’t sure what I would find. My father’s workshop was long gone, but his journals were there, tucked away in the same hidden niche in the old cellar.” She released a disbelieving snort. “They’d built a church over it.”

“Of course they did,” I whispered, bitter and angry. I hesitated, then asked, “You’re certain your father survived. But if you never found him, what became of him?”

“He probably took his own life. It’s the way most Grisha of great power die.”

I sat back, stunned. “What? Why?”

“Do you think I never contemplated it? That my son didn’t? Lovers age. Children die. Kingdoms rise and fall, and we go on. Maybe Morozova is still wandering the earth, older and more bitter than I am. Or maybe he used his power on himself and ended it all. It’s simple enough. Like calls to like. Otherwise. . . .” She chuckled again, that dry, rattling laugh. “You should warn your prince. If he really thinks a bullet will stop a Grisha with three amplifiers, he is much mistaken.”

I shuddered. A shield of light around me could stop arrows, burn them to nothing before the could strike. Would I be able to do the same to bullets? Would I have the courage to take my own life some day? Doing it to protect the world was one thing, but simply because I couldn’t bear to live any longer. . . .

If I brought the amplifiers together, I might destroy the Fold, but I might well make something worse in its place. It was a possibility I had never thought to consider. And when I faced the Darkling, if I dared to use merzost to create an army of light, would it even be enough to end him?

“Baghra,” I asked cautiously, “what would it take to kill a Grisha with that kind of power?”

Baghra tapped the bare skin of my wrist, the naked spot where the third amplifier might rest in a matter of days. “Little Saint,” she whispered. “Little martyr. I expect we’ll find out.”

If a Grisha was old enough, powerful enough. . . . I had seen light in the dead heart of a mountain. I had found it in the blackest reaches of the Fold. If light existed in such darkness, then the opposite must also be true. If Grisha could combine powers and work beyond the boundaries of Corporalki, Materialki, and Etherialki. . . . _I am ancient, Alina. I know things about power that you can barely guess at._ If a Grisha was powerful enough, old enough, could they even _be_ killed?

If I couldn’t defeat him, if I couldn’t let his plans succeed, and if he was unwilling to let them go, what was left? I had known for a long time that I didn’t want the firebird just to stop him. But that had been a part of it. If I took that excuse away, what did I have left? If every option of stopping him was doomed to fail, what was I even doing?

“Baghra.” I paused, raw. “I don’t want to be this. I don’t want to be like him, like your father. My whole life, my power has been an incredible gift. Something that brought me joy, when I could get away with it. Something that was mine. I want more, I’ll probably always want more, but I don’t want to be owned by it. I don’t know how to stop this. Him. His plans. This war. What do I do?” My voice cracked at the end.

It was a long time before she answered. “I don’t know everything, girl.” Her voice was quiet. Tired. “But my son gave you his name. He told you of his past.” She paused. “Maybe there’s more hope left for him than I thought. Maybe not. Either way, it’s out of my hands.

“This isn’t my world. It hasn’t been for a very long time. I only lived for that boy. What becomes of it outside of this room. . . well.” She laughed, a dry, bitter sound. “When did you ever listen to me, anyway?”

 

* * * * *

 

I spent most of the rest of the afternoon in a stupor, trying to absorb everything I had learned about my future, about Grisha power, about what had created the man the world knew as the Darkling, and about the impossibility of what we faced. There was no right answer. No matter what we did, which way we went, it would be a risk the rest of the world may not survive. I suddenly thought I might understood why druskelle so carefully passed their craft down through the generations, why they took their duties so seriously. I remembered the hunter who had held a knife over me so many months ago. _No, he will not have you. He will not have this power, too._

When I could manage it, I began trying to word a request for aid to the Apparat, but I felt uneasy about it the whole time. If I was being honest, almost none of it had to do with the Apparat himself. It was the plan that I suddenly felt uneasy about.

The missive would be left beneath the altar at the Church of Sankt Lukin in Vernost and, hopefully, would make its way to the White Cathedral through the network of the faithful. We’d used a code that Tolya and Tamar knew from their time with the Soldat Sol, so if the message fell into the Darkling’s hands, he wouldn’t realize that in just over two weeks’ time, Mal and I would be waiting for the Apparat’s forces in Caryeva. The racing city was all but abandoned after the summer, and it was close to the southern border. Either we would have the firebird or we wouldn’t, but we’d be able to march whatever forces we had north under the cover of the Fold and meet with Nikolai’s troops south of Kribirsk.

I had two very different sets of luggage. One was nothing but a simple soldier’s pack that would be put aboard the Bittern. It was stocked with roughspun trousers, an olive drab coat treated to resist the rain, heavy boots, a small reserve of coin for any bribes or purchases I might need to make in Dva Stolba, a fur hat that I didn’t need but could wear for appearances, and a scarf to cover Morozova’s collar. The other set was stowed on the Kingfisher—a collection of three matching trunks emblazoned with my golden sunburst and stuffed with silks and furs. I had to fight not to curl my lip as I handed them over to be stowed on the ship.

When evening came, I descended to the boiler level to say my goodbyes to Baghra and Misha. After our conversation, I was hardly surprised that Baghra waved me off with a scowl, but I thanked her regardless and pressed a kiss to her hair. She yelled at me, but didn’t hit me in the face with her cane, so I took it as a victory. I promised I’d think about everything she had told me.

I’d come to see Misha, especially. I told him that I had found someone to continue his lessons while we were gone, and I gifted him with one of the golden sunburst pins worn by my personal guard. Mal wouldn’t be able to wear it in the south, and the delight on Misha’s face was worth all of Baghra’s sneering. I made him promise to practice hard and to be good - “but not too good,” I leaned in and whispered.

I took my time wending my way back through the dark passages. It was quiet down here, and I’d barely had a moment to think since Baghra had told me her story. I knew she’d intended it as a cautionary tale, and yet it was the little girl who’d been thrown into the river with Ilya Morozova that my thoughts kept returning to. Baghra thought she’d died. She’d dismissed her sister as otkazat’sya—but what if she simply hadn’t shown her power yet? She had been Morozova’s child too, and still quite young. What if her gift was unique, like his or Baghra’s? If she had survived, her father might have taken her with him in pursuit of the firebird. She might have settled near the Sikurzoi, her power passed down from generation to generation, over hundreds of years. It might have finally shown itself in me.

It was presumption, I knew. Terrible arrogance. And yet, it made a certain sort of sense. Baghra and the Darkling were descendants of Morozova. Presumably, it was from him they had gotten powers the world had never seen. Wouldn’t it make sense if the Sun Summoner came from the same line? And if we found the firebird near Dva Stolba, so close to the place of my birth, could it really be coincidence?

I stopped short. If I was related to Morozova, that meant I was related to the Darkling. And that meant I’d almost. . . the thought made my skin crawl. No matter how many years and generations might have passed, I still felt like I needed a scalding bath. I nearly retched.

My thoughts were interrupted by Nikolai striding down the hall toward me.

“There’s something you should see,” he said.

“Is it good?” I asked warily. “Because if it’s not good, I’m going back to my bunk and burying my head under twenty of your thickest blankets. Presumably after vomiting a few times.”

He peered at me. “What did the hag do to you? You look like you ate a particularly slimy bug.”

I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it again, my brow furrowing. Maybe I had almost taken a tumble with my distant cousin. I shuddered. “Too much to get into right now. Let’s just say I’m not sure I know anything anymore. About anything. Or anyone.”

“Sounds profound enough to induce a cluster headache.” Nikolai offered me his arm. “Whatever it is, you’ll have to suffer admirably over it later. There’s a miracle upstairs, it’s spectacular, and it won’t wait.”

I looped my arm through his and felt my brows raise. “How very timely. You’re never one to oversell it, are you?”

“It’s not overselling if you deliver.”

We’d just started up the stairs when Mal came bounding down in the opposite direction. He was beaming, his face alight with excitement. That smile was like a bomb going off in my chest. It belonged to a Mal I’d thought had disappeared beneath the scars of this war.

He caught sight of me and Nikolai, arms entwined. It took the briefest second for his face to shutter. He bowed and stepped aside for us to pass.

“Headed the wrong way,” said Nikolai. “You’re going to miss it.”

“Be up in a minute,” Mal replied. His voice sounded so normal, so pleasant, I could almost pretend I’d imagined that smile.

“Wait,” I said, pulling my arm from Nikolai’s and turning to Mal. “What is it?”

He only shook his head. “He’s right. You’ll miss it.” He nodded his head toward the stairs, a smile appearing and disappearing just as quickly.

I looked at him in confusion, but when Nikolai slipped his hand into mine and twined our fingers, tugging me toward the stairs, I didn’t fight him, though my eyes stayed on Mal longer than they probably should have.

It took everything in me to keep climbing those stairs, to keep my hand wrapped in Nikolai’s. It felt suddenly strange. Wrong. _Despise your heart,_ I told myself. _Do what needs to be done._

When we reached the top of the stairs and entered the Spinning Wheel, my jaw dropped and I sucked in a breath. The lanterns had been extinguished so that the room was dark, but all around us, stars were falling. The windows were lit with streaks of light cascading over the mountaintop, like bright fish in a river.

“Meteor shower,” said Nikolai, eyes on my face as a smile spread over it. He led me carefully through the room, my eyes plastered on the windows until I stepped on someone’s hand. People had laid blankets and pillows on the heated floor and were sitting in clusters or lying on their backs, watching the night sky.

All at once, the pain in my chest was so bad it nearly bent me double, and I clutched Nikolai’s hand tightly without meaning to. Because this was what Mal had been coming to show me. Because that look—that open, eager, happy look—had been for me. Because I would always be the first person he turned to when he saw something lovely, and I would do the same. Whether I was a Saint or a queen or the most powerful Grisha who ever lived, I would always turn to him. Without meaning to, I clutched Nikolai’s hand tightly, as if that contact could hold me together. A pleased, if slightly overconfident smile spread over his lips.

“It’s, uh, it’s stunning,” I managed.

“I told you I had a lot of money.”

“I didn’t know the heavens had started accepting Ravkan currency. Do you only arrange celestial events as a hobby, or were you thinking of a change in career?”

“I only do it as a sideline. And only for the exceptionally charming.”

I felt a sad, weak smile quirked my lips. We stood at the center of the room, gazing up at the glass dome. I was painfully aware of the fact that he had positioned us, holding hands, in view of everyone. I took my hand from his long enough to remove his ring from around my neck. I took it off the leather cord and slipped it onto the middle finger of my right hand. Then I turned the massive emerald down toward my palm so only the band showed.

Nikolai watched in silence. When I slipped my hand back into his, he offered, “I could promise to make you forget him.”

“Already well on the way, Nikolai,” I lied. I wanted to make a joke about jewels and celestial events helping, but I didn’t have the stomach for it.

“Ah. That explains your lighthearted mood.”

I forced a smile. “He never really wanted me, anyway.” It felt like something in my chest was shattering. It felt like I was betraying something I would never be able to get back. “It’s why he let me go. He wanted an idea. Just like the Darkling, and just like you. When I stopped being the person he knew,” the person who had needed him, just as he had said, “the woman who was smaller, who had no idea who she was or what she could do. . . well. He wanted Alina. You want the Sun Summoner. The Darkling. . . .” I trailed off. “I’m not sure what he wants anymore,” I finished in a small voice.

He considered me. “I do want the Sun Summoner,” he admitted. “But I meant it when I said I thought _Alina_ and I could have something real.” _If this is going to happen, it has to be between Alina and Nikolai,_ I had said. At least he had listened. Whether he meant it or not wasn’t something I wanted to guess at just then.

“Don’t we already?” I asked playfully. “Or do you make moon eyes at all the legendary, spectacularly beautiful world-saving Grisha you meet?”

For whatever reason, he didn’t quip anything back. I looked at him. “I’m not sure it’s possible, Nikolai. He’s a part of me.” I laid a hand over my heart and smiled sadly. It was the best I could manage. “A decade of unrequited love toward your childhood best friend, with a poetically tragic ending isn’t something you just forget. We were orphans. We were all we had our whole lives.”

“You do realize you’re playing havoc with my pride.”

“Someone has to. You have far too much of it. Besides, don’t pretend you didn’t know what you were getting into all those times you proposed.” I paused and sobered. “I don’t know what I am anymore, Nikolai. ‘Who’ is out of the question. I’m not sure I know what ‘real’ even means. Every time I turn around, the whole world changes and I have to try and catch up.”

“That’s why this would be perfect. Think about it,” he said, leading me through the crowd to a quiet nook near the western terrace. “I’m used to being the center of attention wherever I go. I’ve been told I could charm the shoes off a racehorse midstride, and yet you seem impervious.”

“Ugh, I know. Even Baghra likes you. It’s disgusting. But I fell for a charming man once. Wore lots of black. It didn’t end well, and I like to at least pretend to learn from my mistakes.” I bumped his shoulder with mine. “You know I like you, you ass. And I really didn’t want to.”

“Such a tepid sentiment.”

“Right up there with your own passionate declarations of love undying?”

“Would they help?”

“Would you mean them?” I asked, glib.

“What if I did?”

I made a rude noise with my lips.

“Flattery, then? Flowers? A hundred head of cattle? I admire you, Alina. As a person and as a woman. I may not be in love with you yet, but I am really rather fond of you. Terribly, at times, in fact. That’s more than I have been able to say about women with whom I’ve had far less.”

“There’s that famous charm,” I muttered. I recalled him once saying that every man had his price. At a normal volume, I said, “If you think any of that is my currency, you haven’t been paying attention.”

“Armies to crush your enemies, then? Aid in feeding the poor? A promise to adopt half the country’s orphans?”

“Better,” I allowed. “But still manipulative. Stop trying to buy me.” I looked around. “Speaking of, you might have been more subtle parading our budding romance around for all to see. Next time try a more subtle approach. Notices permanently welded to everyone’s doors, perhaps.”

I knew that bringing me up here was less a romantic gesture than it was a display, and it pricked at me. The mess hall was deserted, and we had this little pocket of the Spinning Wheel to ourselves, but there had been more than one route we could have taken here that wouldn’t have led through most of the mountain’s population, never mind our long pause in the middle of the main room. He’d wanted us to be seen together: the future King and Queen of Ravka. Even now, trying to win me over, it was more about ensuring everyone else knew what was happening than it was about actually trying to win me.

Nikolai cleared his throat. “Alina, on the very slim chance that we survive the next few weeks, I’m going to ask you to be my wife.”

“You don’t say,” I said flatly. I’d known this was where we were headed, but it was still strange to hear him say the words. He’d said them before, yes, but that had been when I hadn’t known him.

“Even if Mal wants to stay on,” Nikolai continued, “I’m going to have him reassigned.”

_Say goodnight. Tell me to leave, Alina._

I looked down, my throat constricting.

“I know I said that we could have a marriage in name only, but if we. . . if we had a child, I wouldn’t want him to have to endure the rumors and the jokes.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “One royal bastard is enough.”

“I don’t know. I rather like him more than the pedigreed version.” That wasn’t what he had meant, and I knew it. I went on before he could point out, rightfully, what a cold thing it had been to say. “An all-female guard, then? We’ll be so popular I’ll have to host lotteries to see who gets the pleasure of my visits.”

“I may never let you out of my sight.”

I smiled ruefully. “My heart has always been stubbornly loyal. I’m not sure I could pretend to love someone while actually loving someone else. May I remind you again that I clung to unrequited love most of my life. So stubbornly, in fact, that I have a secret.”

“Only one?”

“Don’t insult me.” I leaned against the statue and fidgeted. “Let’s just say every priest in the country will blush at what a fine example of purity I’ll be on my wedding night.”

It didn’t take him a moment to piece together what I meant; it was more disbelief than confusion on his face. He genuinely seemed at a loss for words. Had it been any other night, I probably would have laughed fit to stir half the Spinning Wheel.

“There’s that eloquence we all admire. Really, how ever have I managed to resist you? I expect the same from you, by the way.”

“Uh, Alina--” he began, and he seemed grossly uncomfortable.

As much as I wanted to watch him squirm, I rescued him instead. “Not _that,”_ I said, and that time I did laugh, just a little. “Saints, I’m not an idiot. I meant honoring the marriage vows. All of them. If you’re not going to share, then don’t expect me to. And remember, I can set your sheets on fire.”

He hid a sigh of relief. “I would expect no less.”

I hummed. “Good answer.” Then my eyes returned to the showers of light all around us. I let it collect against my skin, white and luminous, with the barest traces of blue. My eyes closed in pleasure.

“You were right,” he murmured.

I opened my eyes to find him standing closer than he had been. “Generally, yes,” I said, my voice too breathless. “But about what in particular?”

He smiled. “The look suits you. Perhaps a nighttime wedding?”

“For the Sun Summoner? And here I thought that was the whole point.” I looked carefully away from him, face going serious. “I just want to remind you one more time, you don’t need to do this anymore. I’m not going to pretend I’ll be able to just run away when this is over anymore. I could return to leading the Second Army. We both want the same things. You’d have cooperation and support. And I still wouldn’t hesitate to tell you when you were being an idiot.”

His eyes narrowed as his smile grew. “I know. But you have to admit, we make a good pair.”

I smiled to myself, a small thing, but it fell quickly. “There’s something you need to understand, though. I don’t know how clear Baghra made this to you: the third amplifier might turn me into a power-mad dictator, and the only choice you’ll have is to try to kill me.”

“That would make for an awkward honeymoon.” He took my hand, circling my bare wrist with his fingers. I tensed, and realized I was waiting for the rush of surety that came with the Darkling’s touch, or a jolt like the one I’d felt that night at the Little Palace when Mal and I had argued by the banya. Nothing happened. Nikolai’s skin was warm, his grip gentle and sure. I’d wondered if I would ever feel something so simple again or if the power in me would just keep jumping and crackling, seeking connection the way lightning seeks high ground.

“Collar,” Nikolai said. “Fetters. I won’t have to spend much on jewelry.”

“I have very expensive taste in tiaras.”

“But only one head.”

I frowned. “For now. I may want an army of those horrible, disgusting little snuffly dogs. Each with their own gem-encrusted wardrobe.”

“We’ll need royal dog walkers. You’re creating jobs already. And think of how much we’ll save on candles.”

I snorted. “At least I’d be easy on the royal coffers.” I glanced down at my wrist. “You should know that based on the conversation I had today with Baghra, if things do go wrong with the amplifier, getting rid of me may require a lot more than your usual firepower. Or whatever you have stockpiled for the Darkling and his army.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, we didn’t get that far. Another Sun Summoner? Another Darkling? Some power as yet undiscovered? Baghra told me before I first ran away from the Little Palace that the collar would make me the most powerful Grisha who ever lived. She would know. When I put on the fetter, it did far more than just double that power. When I take the firebird. . . .” I let him finish the thought.

“I’m sure there’s a spare miracle or two around somewhere.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t need me at all, then. I’m sure your backup Sun Summoner is much more agreeable, anyway. Far less prone to fits of pique.”

“See?” he said. “If we’re not dead in a month, we might be very happy together.”

“When I’m not hitting you in the face?”

“Admittedly, I might like to stop that tradition before it puts down roots.”

I grinned and shook my head despite myself. “I wish you’d stop it,” I said.

“What?”

“Saying the right thing. It’s inconsiderate, and just terribly rude.”

“I’ll try to wean myself of the habit.” He twined our fingers together again, then leaned in with practiced confidence and placed a lingering kiss on the side of my neck just above the collar. I released a shaky breath, and when I heard him chuckle, leaned back and cuffed him on the arm.

He laughed outright, his free hand going to massage the wounded flesh. “Progress already!”

“I truly hate you.”

“That’s not possible. I’m entirely too charming.”

I made a disgusted sound, but allowed myself to lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder, though I bit him once on the way for good measure. We stayed like that and watched the spill of stars streaking the sky. It took everything I had to keep my mind there, with him. It was the last place it wanted to be, and the last thing it wanted to be thinking about. It made me wonder if it was even fair to him to consider finally accepting his proposal.

I tilted my head back against Nikolai’s shoulder. The stars looked like they were close together, when really they were millions of miles apart. In the end, maybe love just meant longing for something impossibly bright and forever out of reach. Maybe it was a lovely dream I’d held onto because I’d kept myself alone all my life, dreaming of an ideal I would never have.

We could be happy. I knew that. People fell in love every day, people much more oddly matched than Nikolai and me. Genya and David. Tamar and Nadia. Sergei and Marie. The people would probably turn our match into a legend, a fable. Maybe it would last longer than my own death or disappearance, growing more grand and impossible with each telling.

But how honest could it ever be? I loved Nikolai as a friend and as a person. I would love him as a ruler. But how much of me was human any more? It hadn’t been two years since the Darkling had stolen me from Kribursk, and already I didn’t even recognize the person I had been. True, I had taken two amplifiers, fought against the Black Heretic, traversed the length and breadth of Ravka, crossed the sea, and traveled places I didn’t know existed. But I couldn’t undo what had changed in me. I didn’t want to.

I couldn’t go back, and I couldn’t stop going forward. How much could I love someone who couldn’t truly understand me? How long until I grew to resent him for it?

Again, my mind strayed to the Darkling. Would I let myself blame Nikolai for the death of the only person who would ever be able to understand me? Facing marriage with a man time was hurrying away from me and an eternity without any of the people I knew and loved and trusted? If I was a ruler, would I ever even be able to trust anyone again? Would I retire to some small, run-down shack somewhere, huddled next to a fire and wrapped up against a cold only I could feel?

Part of me stroked against the tether of my connection to the Darkling - the thing I had been carefully avoiding ever since speaking to Baghra. The one thing that would exist as long as I did, that would ensure I was never truly alone. Right up until I killed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing toward the end might be pretty sloppy - I just wanted to get this posted. For the same reason, the next chapter might be super short. There was a scene I wanted to add at the end of this, but it was already crazy long, and, you know, I just wanted to get it posted.
> 
> \- - - - -
> 
> 8/19/17: tweaked the "you love him" line and Alina's reply. It wasn't a Baghra enough thing for Baghra to say.


	12. Like Calls To Like

After everything that had happened that day, going to the Darkling wasn’t even a choice, not truly.

I laid down on my bed and felt for the tether. The journey to him was smooth and almost instant, as if it was becoming easier with practice. When I found myself next to him, I could tell from the light that we were in a dark space lit by torches. He was leaned back against a drab stone wall, arms crossed and watching something in front of him with intent eyes. In the distance, I could hear the echoes of voices. There was shouting, I thought, or maybe crying, or both. I hoped we weren’t where I thought we were.

The Darkling didn’t even look at me, just said “Carry on,” to someone I couldn’t see and pushed away from the wall. His head nodded to the side almost imperceptibly, and when he turned, a pale wooden door swung open before him. Apparently I was supposed to follow. I considered leaving just to show him how much I appreciated his arrogance, but I too badly wanted to speak to him to even truly entertain the idea.

I followed him up a flight of stairs through a dark hallway. Glowing red blobs - more torchlight, I assumed - passed every several feet on either side of us. After the stairs was another hallway, then a space so large it looked like we were standing in a bank of mist. I was growing more annoyed with every step, wondering if he was just seeing how far I’d follow him like a fool, when he murmured, “We’re almost there.” I ground my teeth together and kept on. We passed through a doorway, and finally I saw moonlight on his face.

We still weren’t done, however. He kept walking until he came to another stone wall, where his hand found a catch around a corner and opened a secret passage. We went through another door, down another hallway, and I let out a quiet growl. A moment later he stopped, turned to me, and waited.

I saw no anger over our last exchange. But of course he wouldn’t allow it out unless it served some purpose or caught him too off guard.

I took a breath and let the edge of my annoyance slip away. “How did you do it?” I finally asked. “How did you come to terms with eternity?” It was a safe place to start. It was business.

If he was surprised by the question, he hid it perfectly. “I had a goal.”

I shook my head. “No. I mean, I know you had Baghra. But was that enough? You two don’t seem. . . close.”

He leaned one shoulder against a wall and I saw rich, faded wallpaper in deep crimson and gold. The gesture was so human it hurt. “It helped,” he allowed. “But it was far from what I needed.

“My mother,” I thought that was the first time I had ever really heard him call her that, “taught me that I stood above all men. That no otkazat’sya or Grisha would ever be my equal. She taught me that love was a lie. I listened. I hardened my heart to a cutting edge. That helped, too.”

He pushed off the wall and walked forward to stand in front of me. “But I held onto one thing,” he held up a graceful finger, “and it got me through the days. The nights. The years and centuries, as armies rose and fell, as rebellions sprouted up like flowers only to wither just as quickly.”

He waited until I asked the obvious question: “What?”

“I heard of a legend as a child. It was a fable, almost a parable. Stories were much more common than books back then, but as that changed the story found its way into the rare volume. I have a collection of every place it's mentioned in my room. I noticed you didn’t touch my library.” _Or anything else,_ he didn’t need to say.

I didn’t let myself avert my eyes. “I was busy,” I said coldly.

His lips quirked, then settled again. “The legend stirred something in me. It called to me. I knew it was real, it had to be. Like I knew the amplifiers were real.”

“You knew the amplifiers were real because your mother saw his work firsthand,” I snapped. “Stop lying to me.”

Surprise flashed behind his eyes, but it was gone in an instant, and an arrogant, almost cold smile curled over his lips. “All my mother ever had to say about those amplifiers was that they were the ramblings of a madman, Alina, grand thinking and delusion. That if I chased them, I was more of a fool than he had been. You saw that firsthand the night I told you about Morozova’s stag.

“I have no reason to lie to you anymore. You know my plans. You know my name. The rest of my secrets will be yours in time. The truth seems to have a way of finding you, regardless. And you’ve proven how far you’re willing to go to punish me for a lie.”

I opened my mouth to spit anger and indignation at him, but he put a hand over it, and the surprise brought me up short.

He leaned in, and when he spoke again, his low voice was quiet. “Morozova theorized that any force could take shape in the connection Grisha have to the world around them. He was unusually interested in the idea of a Sun Summoner, I suspect because of the gifts of his own daughter. He wrote a good deal of light embodied. Of what such a person might be able to do.”

Our noses were almost touching now, and his voice was nearly a whisper. “You see, I knew that if I existed, a creature who commanded darkness, why not my opposite? The idea took root in me and that, Alina, was a secret I held to over many hundreds of years. Underneath my plans. Underneath my goals. I knew that no one else in all the world would, no matter how long I lived, ever be able to understand me as my opposite. My foil. My compliment. My partner. The only piece of myself that I couldn’t claim on my own, no matter how hard I worked or how powerful I became or how many secrets I collected. I never spoke of it to Baghra, not even as a boy.”

I felt frozen, unable to move, and unable to look away from his slate eyes, vivid even in the dark of the passage.

“You learned from my mother,” he said. “You know how fond she is of repeating ‘like calls to like.’ You may want to tell yourself that it’s only what I’ve done that connects us. But you know that’s not true. You felt it from the moment we met. You challenged me. Questioned me. You argued and fought with me. You knew your place even when you believed you were nothing and no one. Small.

 _”I_ knew you had never been those things. You couldn’t be, not even as hard as you tried.” He leaned in until his lips brushed my ear and his chest pressed lightly to mine, as his hand finally slid away from my mouth, his thumb tugging gently on my lower lip as it passed. His low voice breathed into my ear, “The truth, Alina, is that you came to recognize me just as I had recognized you.

"I don’t need to lie to you, not anymore. You’ve been mine from the moment you were born.”

I felt my eyes widen and realized I was breathing fast. Before he could say anything else, do anything else, I severed the connection and was pulled back to the Spinning Wheel.

Laying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling and breathing as if I had just run, I felt him reach across the line that connected us, wanting and amused and small. I got the impression he only did it was to show me that he could. I felt sick, and shoved it away viciously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep forgetting to link this: the PG-13 version of this fic can be found [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11759154/chapters/26506053) <3
> 
> P.S. Yes that is a line from Dragon Age, and I totally want to punch stupid Solas in the face for it every time I read it.
> 
> Update: I based his "I've been holding out for you most of my life" off of the scene where she meets him at Keramzin. He doesn't technically need her anymore - he can enter the Fold by himself whenever he wants now, but he still makes it clear 'Bitch you're MINE. I've been waiting for you too long, I've earned it, I will break you if that's what it takes to have you.' In case we didn't all know it wasn't really/just about her power by then.


	13. I Find The Dark Is The Same Wherever I Am

The next morning, I found Nikolai on the eastern terrace taking weather readings. Mal’s team was set to depart within the hour and was only waiting for the all clear. I pulled up my hood. It wasn’t quite snowing, but a few flakes had settled on my cheeks and hair, quickly melting against my heat. I didn’t like the wet feeling.

“How does everything look?” I asked, handing Nikolai a glass of tea. I still wore his ring on my middle finger, gem turned in to the safety of my palm.

“Not bad,” he replied. “Gusts are mild, and the pressure’s holding steady. They may have it rough through the mountains, but it shouldn’t be anything the Bittern can’t handle.”

I heard the door open behind me, and Mal and Tamar stepped out onto the terrace. They were dressed in peasant clothes, fur hats, and sturdy wool coats.

“Are we a go?” Tamar asked. She was trying to seem calm, but I could hear the barely leashed excitement in her voice. I had to bite the inside of my lip not to smile. Behind her, I saw Nadia with her face pressed against the glass, awaiting the verdict.

Nikolai nodded. “You’re a go.”

Tamar’s grin was blinding. She managed a restrained bow, then turned to Nadia and gave her the signal. Nadia whooped and broke into something between a seizure and a dance.

Nikolai and I laughed. “If only she’d show a little enthusiasm,” he said.

“Positively depressing, really. Be safe,” I said as I embraced Tamar. I knew I would see them all in a week, but I was surprisingly anxious at being separated from them, and caught off guard by how much I was going to miss them.

“Take care of Tolya for me,” she replied. Then she whispered, “We left the cobalt lace in your trunk. Wear that tonight.”

I sputtered and yanked myself back, eyes wide.

She laughed, and Nikolai and Mal glanced at me curiously.

“Oh. . . go stare at someone else,” I snapped half-heartedly, feeling a flush on my cheeks. I leaned back against the railing and crossed my arms petulantly.

There was an awkward pause as I looked at Mal. His blue eyes were vibrant in the gray morning light. The scar at my shoulder twinged and I raised a hand to rub it.

“Safe journey, moi soverenyi.” He bowed.

I knew what was expected, but didn’t much care. I pursed my lips and strode forward to wrap him in an embrace. “Come back safe, or I will hunt you down in the afterlife and torment you for all eternity,” I whispered in his ear.

For a moment, he just stood there, then his arms closed hard around me. “Safe journey, Alina,” he whispered into my hair, and quickly stepped back.

When I turned around it was to see Nikolai watching us with curiosity. No doubt it had something to do with my confession last night. “We’ll be on our way as soon as the Kingfisher returns,” he said. “I expect to see you all safe and whole in one week’s time, and packing some all-powerful bird bones.”

“I hope that’s just a figure of speech,” I said icily.

“Bird bones, news of live bird, same difference.”

I gave him a dark look.

Mal bowed. “Saints’ speed, moi tsarevich.”

Nikolai offered his hand and they shook. “Good luck, Oretsev. Find the firebird, and when this is over, I’ll see you well rewarded. A farmhouse in Udova. A dacha near the city. Whatever you want.”

“I don’t need any of that. Just. . .” He dropped Nikolai’s hand and looked away. “Deserve her.”

He hastened back into the Spinning Wheel with Tamar behind him. Through the glass I saw them talking to Nadia and Harshaw. An ache I was starting to fear I’d have to get used to living with settled behind my sternum.

“Well,” said Nikolai, “at least he’s learned to make an exit.”

I cleared my throat. “How long will it take us to reach Ketterdam?”

“Two to three d--”

My head whipped around to stare with wide-eyed intensity into the dense fog.

“Alina?”

I felt something unnatural hurtling toward us through the air. In an instant, I knew what it was, and I paled, horrified by what I saw through the light.

“He’s here,” I whispered, voice stark. The Darkling. He had found us. I could feel him approaching like a thunderhead, bourne by a cloud of his Nichevo’ya. The air was full of darting black shapes, winged monsters that moved unlike any natural creature. Behind him was. . . . my face went slack. “No,” I breathed. Sergei. He had Sergei, dangled aloft by two of the monsters. Worse, on the other side of the mountain was an even bigger cluster of the creatures, each carrying someone in a billowing kefta. If I had paled before, I must be white as a ghost now.

“What?” Nikolai asked, immediately alarmed.

“He’s here,” I repeated sharply, turning to look at him. “We’re surrounded. Go!”

Whether it was my face or my voice, Nikolai wasted no time arguing. He grabbed my hand and tried to haul me inside, but I shook him off, looking back to the where place I knew the Darkling was about to appear. _”Go!”_ I yelled. “Warn them!”

He tore inside, and for a long moment, the only sound was the quiet falling of mountain snow and wind in the peaks. Then I heard yelling from inside as the warning went up and people began scrabbling. Mal burst through the door to the terrace, Tamar on his heels, but I was starting at the spot where I knew the first of the hoard was about to appear.

A shadowed blur cut across my vision, disorienting me, and I cried out as I felt claws close over my shoulders and my feet lifted from the floor.

Mal lunged across the distance and seized me around the waist, yanking me back down. For a long, terrible moment, I felt myself slipping from his grip as he fought against the inhuman strength of the Darkling’s monster. I twisted with a pained, angry cry, arms moving in an arc, sending a blaze of light burning through the nichevo’ya that had hold of me. It wavered and exploded into nothing. I fell to the terrace in a heap, toppling with Mal, bleeding from where the monster’s talons had pierced my skin and gasping from the pain.

I was on my feet in seconds. Behind me, I heard chaos erupting in the hall, the thud and crunch of glass as nichevo’ya hurled themselves against the reinforced windows. I raised my arms, my mind already half scattered among the light, and yelled, “Get the others out! Get them away from here!”

“We can’t leave you—” Tamar tried to object.

 _“Was I asking?”_ I shouted angrily.

“Go!” Mal bellowed at her. I didn’t have time to point out that he’d been included in the order. I was stretching and spreading, surrounding the mountaintop, weaving light all around it into a net as sharp and deadly as the Cut. I only had a moment before the nichevo’ya would break through the glass.

“Saints,” I heard Mal swear. “How did he find us?” He shouldered his rifle, taking aim at the attacking monsters, but there were too many. He would be overwhelmed in an instant. With a growl of anger at his stubborn refusal to leave, and the fact that it may doom every soldier in the Spinning Wheel, I turned my attention back to the terrace, intending to blow the nichevo’ya up from the inside, but they were too dense with the Darkling’s power. More than the mountains, more than the Fold. If I only had a moment to concentrate--

Mal lashed out with the butt of his rifle as one of the creatures came in close, claws extending toward his chest. Light, sinuous and blinding, coiled around the creature, instantly cutting it into pieces that hovered in the air before breaking apart like contained smoke. The cords stretched and extended, whipping through the air around us and obliterating the dark cloud of nichevo’ya. I heard shattering glass as the first of them broke through the windows and swore loudly, turning my attention back to them, only to freeze. He was here. My eyes darted to the air overhead.

“Get inside,” I breathed to Mal in an intense voice. He didn’t move. “Now,” I growled quietly. “I can’t concentrate if I have to keep you safe.”

I was honestly surprised when Mal tore inside, away from the terrace. I ached to spend just enough attention to follow him with the light, to make sure he was safe, but I couldn’t. I needed all of it here, now.

The Darkling appeared gradually through the snow from above. I felt a gaggle of soldiers forming behind me. His creatures moved around him like a living cloak, their wings beating the air in a rippling black wave, forming and re-forming, bearing him aloft, their bodies slipping apart and together, absorbing the bullets flying at him from the doorway. I could smell gunpowder and hear the clink of empty cartridges as bullets hit the ground until the soldiers there were quickly taken out from behind.

I saw a red shape suspended between two nichevo’ya, their black claws sunk deeply into their captive’s body. Sergei’s face was chalky, his eyes wide and terrified, his lips moving in a silent prayer.

“Shall I spare him, Alina?” said the Darkling.

“Yes!” I answered without thinking.

“He betrayed you to the first oprichnik he could find. I wonder, will you offer him mercy or justice?”

I felt a stab of betrayal, but shoved it down. Maybe Sergei really had turned on us. Maybe this was this a lie, a trap. Either way, I felt certain I knew now what I had seen last night when I visited the Darkling. I looked again at Sergei, but aside from the wounds the nichevo’ya made, he looked unharmed.

“Define justice,” I called back angrily. “He was terrified, because of you! All he wanted was to feel safe! I wouldn’t kill him for that, and I certainly wouldn’t decide while you’re dangling him in the air like a toy!”

“A leader needs to be able to make snap decisions, Alina. Consider this practice.”

“I don’t want him harmed!”

That was when I realized what Sergei was muttering—not prayers, just one word over and over again: _Safe. Safe. Safe._

“But he did betray me first, didn’t he?” The Darkling went on. “He remained in Os Alta when he should have come to my side. He sat on your council, plotted against me. He told me everything.”

My eyes darted again to the Heartrender’s ashen face. Thank the Saints we’d kept the location of the firebird a secret.

“You can’t just kill everyone who pisses you off!” I cried, desperate and angry.

A cold smile spread over his lips. “Since he betrayed me first, the decision is mine.”

I waited, dread pooling in my stomach. Then I stared in utter shock as the nichevo’ya hovered closer and dropped Sergei onto the terrace from a dangerous height. He landed with a frightening thud in a crumpled heap and did not move.

“Consider him a gift, Alina,” the Darkling said.

Behind me, I could hear the sounds of screams and glass shattering in the Spinning Wheel. Shock melted from my face and I felt my brows pinch together. “Please don’t do this,” I said. It was futile, I knew it was, but it was all I had.

He considered me, then canted his head and held a hand out. “I’ll extend you the same offer I made in the chapel and stop all of this. Provided they stand down.”

“I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“Here we are again, then. Your army against mine. Do you think your soldiers will fare any better this time?" An arrogant smile tugged at his mouth as he looked down at me. "We can keep up this dance, you and I. We can continue for eternity, if you like. How much of the world will be left by the end, do you think? How many more lives to sacrifice? How many more bodies to fill our armies? Will there be anything left to save?”

“You could always just stop murdering people," I barked.

He shook his head, and it was pitying. “You fear change. They all do. But I see what is waiting on the other side, Alina. A world without war, without sacrifices built on the backs of the people, without Grisha hunted like animals." 

I opened my mouth to reply, but the clatter of footsteps behind me brought me up short. It was Nikolai. I whirled on him, too late. A shadow broke from the Darkling’s hoard and shot forward faster than my eyes could follow, grabbing Nikolai and carrying him high into the misty grayness.

“No!” I cried, hand extended futilely. I couldn’t kill the creature without Nikolai falling to his death.

“I have regretted many of the things I’ve had to do in this war,” said the Darkling. “This will not be one of them.”

In horror, I watched Nikolai struggle in the shadow warrior’s arms. Any bit of courage I had evaporated.

“Please!” The word tore from me, without dignity or constraint. “Please don’t do this!” I knew it was useless. He may have given Sergei back, but this was different. This was not something he would let go.

He raised his hand, and my eyes widened in horror.

But his death didn’t come. The nichevo’ya tossed him onto the terrace next to Sergei, who was beginning to stir. Nikolai’s body hit the stone with a sickening thud and rolled to a stop.

I ran to where Nikolai lay, falling to my knees beside him and putting a gentle hand to his face. He moaned. His coat was torn where the creature’s claws had shredded the fabric, and dark with blood from his wounds. He tried to push himself up on his elbows and blood dribbled from his mouth.

“Stay down,” I murmured raggedly, “stay down.”

“This was unexpected,” he said weakly.

“Shut up and stop moving or you’ll ruin your coat,” I said pathetically. “Just stay still and you’ll be fine. I promise.”

“I appreciate your optimism.”

I caught movement from the corner of my eye and saw two blots of shadow slip free of the Darkling’s hands. They slithered lightning fast over the lip of the balcony, undulating like serpents, heading directly toward us. I raised a wall of scorching light, but though it cost them some of their size, they only kept coming. I struck with the Cut, obliterating one on the inside of the terrace railing, but there were too many, and I couldn’t grab the thread of my concentration enough to target them all at once. I could only lash out wildly. I wasn’t fast enough. The shadows slithered across the stone and darted into Nikolai’s mouth.

“No!” I screamed, flooding his mouth with light, but it was dangerous and useless - I was too afraid of hurting him. It wasn’t enough, not nearly.

His eyes widened. His breath hitched in surprise, drawing whatever the Darkling had released into his lungs. He stared at me in shock as I stared at him in desperation.

“What—what was that?” he choked.

“I don’t—”

He coughed, shuddered. Then his fingers flew to his chest, tearing open the remains of his shirt. We both looked down, and I saw shadow spreading beneath his skin in fragile black lines, splintering like veins in marble.

“No,” I groaned. “No, no, no.”

The cracks traveled across his stomach, down his arms.

“Alina?” he said helplessly. The darkness fractured beneath his skin, climbing his throat. I slammed my hands against his chest and tried to call to the light inside him, to expand it and burn off whatever dark poison was spreading. He threw his head back and screamed, the tendons flexing in his neck as his whole body contorted, his back bowing. I yanked back, and he shoved up to his knees, chest heaving. Helpless, horrified tears were streaming down my face. I reached for him as he convulsed.

He released another raw scream, and two black shards burst from his back. They unfurled. Like wings.

His head shot up. He looked at me, face beaded in sweat, gaze panicked and desperate. “Alina—”

Then his eyes—his clever, hazel eyes—went entirely black.

“. . .Nikolai?” I whispered.

His lips curled back, revealing teeth of black onyx. They had formed fangs. He snarled. I stumbled backward. His jaws snapped closed a bare inch from me.

“Hungry?” the Darkling asked. “I wonder which one of your friends you’ll eat first.”

I refused to raise my hands - I wouldn’t use my power unless I was left with absolutely no choice. I didn’t want to hurt him, and I refused to kill him. “Nikolai,” I begged. “Please, stay with me.”

His face spasmed in pain. He was in there, fighting himself, battling the appetite that had taken hold of him.

“Yes,” I urged, “you can do it, I know you can.”

His hands - no, his claws - flexed. He howled, and the noise that came from him was desperate, shrieking, completely inhuman.

His wings beat the air as he rose from the terrace, monstrous but beautiful, still somehow Nikolai. He looked down at the dark veins coursing over his torso, at the razor-sharp talons that had pushed from his blackened fingertips. He held out his hands as if pleading with me for an answer.

“Don’t go,” I begged. “I’ll figure this out, I promise!”

He turned in the air, wrenching himself away, and raced upward, as if he could somehow outpace the need inside him, his black wings carrying him higher as he cut through the nichevo’ya. He looked back once, and even from a distance, I felt his anguish and confusion.

Then he was gone, a black speck in the gray sky, while I remained trembling below.

“Eventually,” said the Darkling, “he will feed.” Sickeningly, his voice was almost gentle.

I’d warned Nikolai of the Darkling’s vengeance, but even I couldn’t have foreseen the elegance of this, the perfect cruelty. Nikolai had made a fool of the Darkling, raised armies against him, and now the Darkling had taken my polished, brilliant, noble friend and made him into a mindless monster. He was not kind enough to simply have killed him.

A sound came from me, something guttural, animal, a noise I didn’t recognize. I raised my hands and, with a furious cry, brought two deadly whips down on him and his hoard in golden, sparking arcs. Heat and light were billowing around me in my rage and pain. The ropes struck the whirring shapes that surrounded the Darkling and I saw some burst apart into nothing, only to have others take their place. I didn’t care. I wrapped them around his cloud and squeezed them inward, breaking the creatures apart as if waving an arm through puffs of smoke.

For a moment, the Darkling wavered in the air, but then the nichevo’ya around him swarmed and condensed. I struck at him again, and again, and again, until just enough of my anger was spent to understand that I was probably giving him exactly what he wanted. If I was angry, if I was off balance, I was easier to manipulate.

I dropped my hands, my teeth bared, the whips shattering into a thousand sparks. I looked up at him, panting. My face was cold fury and the light was a wide swath around me, nearly blinding - I was far beyond the ability to pretend impassivity.

A dozen things I wanted to say shot through my mind. Accusations, attacks, insults. I cycled through them until I felt something in myself crumple and give out. In the end, all I said, my voice quiet and shattered, was, “You are the most broken creature I have ever met.”

His face turned glacial. I had never seen such a look on it, not when I betrayed him, not when I stole from him, not when I tried to kill him. He gestured to the nichevo’ya. “Take her. Find the tracker and bring him, too.”

They swarmed down from every direction, a seething black mass.

I went cold and dead and my power came to me, raw and new and burning, more massive and perfect than I had ever felt it. I moved to stand over Sergei and a wall of light, glowing and pure and so white-hot that it was more solid than stone, than iron, shot to life between me and the oncoming creatures. It spanned from the floor of the terrace to higher than I could see, dissolving mist and cloud. It circled the whole mountain, cutting through nichevo’ya, barring some out and locking others in with the soldiers and Grisha in the Spinning Wheel.

I _felt_ a pang of shock from the other side of my wall, but I only burned, broken and furious and hollow. My hair billowed around me, the light moved for me, in place of me. I could keep this up for days, but he would outlast me, and I had no idea how to get everyone out. The Darkling knew where we were. His shadow army was more numerous than I could count - he wouldn’t let any of us simply leave.

Then suddenly I felt them stop. The nichevo’ya hung in the air, bodies limp, wings moving in silent rhythm. Even the ones inside the Spinning Wheel. I felt a line form between my brows. What was he playing at now?

Silence descended on the terrace. I could hear the wail of the wind, the sounds of the battle raging behind us.

“Abomination.”

My head whipped around. Baghra stood inside the doorway, her hand on Misha’s shoulder. The boy was shaking, his eyes so wide I could see more white than iris. Behind them, our soldiers were fighting not just nichevo’ya but oprichniki and the Darkling’s own Grisha in their blue and red kefta.

“Guide me,” Baghra told Misha. His eyes narrowed against the glow. What courage it must have taken for him to lead her out onto the terrace, past the nichevo’ya, who shifted and bumped up against each other, following her passage like a field of glistening black reeds. Only those closest to the Darkling remained moving, clinging to their master, their wings beating in unison.

“Wait,” I said.

“What are you doing, girl?” She asked.

“I--” Suddenly I couldn’t form words.

“There’s. . . she has a wall around the mountain,” Misha said. His voice shook. “It’s too bright to look at.”

“Take it down,” she ordered.

“No. I don’t know how to get us out yet but I’m no--”

“Take it down, Alina.”

More than the fact that she’d used my name, it was the way she spoke that made me obey. It wasn’t a command, it wasn’t an order, barked and harsh and impatient. It was calm. Relaxed. So I did as she bade, and let the wall come down.

The Darkling’s face was livid when he saw her. “I should have known I’d find you cloistered with the enemy. Go back inside,” he ordered. “My soldiers will not harm you.”

Baghra ignored him. When they reached the end of the terrace, Misha placed her hand on the lip of the remaining wall. She leaned against it, releasing an almost contented sigh, and gave Misha a nudge with her stick. “Go on, boy, run to the little Saint.” He hesitated. Baghra reached out and found his cheek, then patted it none too gently. “Go on,” she repeated. “I want to talk to my son.”

“Misha,” I said, and the boy bolted over to me. I tucked him behind myself, keeping steadying hands on his arms. The nichevo’ya showed no interest in him, their attention focused wholly on Baghra. I felt someone barrel out toward us, then stop dead in their tracks when they took the scene in. Mal. He kept his rifle trained on the Darkling from behind me.

“What is it you want?” asked the Darkling. “And do not hope to plead for mercy for these fools.”

“Only to meet your monsters,” she said calmly. Baghra leaned her stick against the wall and held out her arms. The nichevo’ya moved forward, rustling and nudging against each other. One nuzzled its head against her palm, as if it were sniffing her. Was it curiosity I sensed in them? Hunger? “They know me, these children. Like calls to like.”

“Stop this,” demanded the Darkling.

Baghra’s palms began to fill with darkness. The sight was jarring. I’d only ever seen her summon once before - she had hidden her power away far more completely than I ever had, but she had done it for the sake of her son’s secrets. With a cold I had not felt in weeks, I remembered what she’d said about a Grisha turning his power on himself. She shared the Darkling’s blood, his power. But surely she wouldn’t act against him, not even now. A terrible suspicion crept into me.

“Baghra,” I began, warning and fear in my voice.

“I will not fight you,” the Darkling said.

“Then strike me down.”

“You know I won’t.”

She smiled then and gave a little chuckle, as if she were pleased with a precocious student. “It’s true. That’s why I still have hope.” Her head snapped to me.

“Girl,” she said sharply. Her blind eyes were blank, but in that moment, I could have sworn she saw me clearly. “Remember everything I told you, and _do not fail me again.”_

“She isn’t strong enough to fight me either, old woman. Not even with the tricks you’ve taught her,” he said, and I could hear bitterness in his voice. “Take up your stick, and I will return you to the Little Palace.”

She chuckled. “The little Saint may have a surprise for you yet, boy. She learns faster than you ever did.”

“Please,” I began, by my voice was no more than a whisper.

“My hut,” she said in that same calm voice. It was such a human voice. “My fire. That sounds a pleasant thing. But I find the dark is the same wherever I am.”

“You earned those eyes,” the Darkling said coldly, but I heard the hurt there too.

“I did,” she said with a sigh. “And more.” Then, without warning, she slammed her hands together. Thunder boomed over the mountain and darkness billowed from her palms like banners unfurling, twisting and curling around the nichevo’ya. They shrieked and jittered, whirling in confusion.

“Know that I loved you,” she said to the Darkling. “Know that it was not enough.”

“No,” I moaned.

In a single movement, she shoved herself up on the wall, and before I could draw breath to scream, she tipped forward and vanished over the ledge, trailing the nichevo’ya behind her in tangled skeins of darkness. They tumbled past us in a rush, a shrieking black wave that rolled over the terrace and plummeted down, drawn by the power she exuded.

“No!” I screamed, at the exact moment the Darkling roared the same word. He dove after her, the wings of his soldiers beating with his fury.

I was running forward, crying out in desperation and horror. But the ledge was growing farther away, not nearer. I became aware of Mal’s arms clamped hard around my waist, dragging me back as I fought him. “Alina, stop!”

I smelled the singe of fabric and flesh and realized I was burning him, glowing in a blinding halo. I kicked and fought even as I did my best to control my power so I wouldn’t hurt him.

He set me down suddenly and whirled me around to face him, gripping me by the arms and shaking me, hard. “Alina!” He barked.

Dimly, I became aware of his face. I became aware of the fighting going on around us, of nichevo’ya streaming past us, yanked toward the terrace by Baghra’s trailing skeins. Others simply hovered in confusion as their master drew farther away.

 _Run,_ Baghra had told me again and again. I finally did.

“Get Sergei!” I ordered, even as I scooped Misha up into my arms.

The heated floor was slippery with blood and melted snow. The massive windows of the Spinning Wheel had been shattered and flurries gusted through the room. I saw fallen bodies, pockets of fighting. Mal had Misha in his arms and we were running through the observatory.

I couldn’t seem to think straight. Nikolai, rocketing into the air on hideous, graceful black wings, pain and confusion in his face as he looked back at me. Where would he go? How would I ever find him? Baghra. Falling through the mists, the rocks rising up to meet her. Steady, eternal, unwavering Baghra. _Little Saint. Little martyr._ Would she close her blind eyes?

Tolya was running toward us. I saw two oprichniki come at him, swords drawn. Without breaking stride, he threw out his fists and the soldiers collapsed, clutching their chests, their mouths dripping blood.

“Where are the others?” Mal shouted as we came level with Tolya and pelted for the staircase. The giant took the Sergei from Mal, who took Misha from me, freeing up my hands.

“In the hangar, but they’re outnumbered. We need to get down there.” 

I felt a swell of protective anger, and the haze over my mind seemed to dissipate. My attention sharpened, and I redoubled my speed.

Some of the Darkling’s blue-robed Squallers had tried to blockade the stairs. They hurled crates and furniture at us in mighty gusts of wind. I threw up a blistering wall of heat and watched as only ash and tiny, charred, smoking pieces of wood made it through. I pushed it forward, sending the Squallers scattering. I could feel the heat of the floor where it had passed even through my boots.

The worst was waiting in the hangar below. All semblance of order had broken down in the panic to get away from the Darkling’s soldiers.

People were swarming over the Pelican and the Ibis. The Pelican already hovered above the hangar floor, borne aloft by Squaller current. Soldiers were pulling on its cables, trying to drag it back down and climb aboard, unwilling to wait for the other barge.

Someone gave the order, and the Pelican surged free, plowing through the crowd as it took flight. It rose into the air, trailing screaming men like strange anchors, and disappeared from view. I put a hand to my mouth in horror.

Zoya, Nadia, and Harshaw were backed up against one of the hulls of the Bittern, using fire and wind to try to keep back a crowd of Grisha and oprichniki.

Tamar was on the deck, and I was relieved to see Nevsky at her side, along with a few other soldiers from the Twenty-Second. But behind them, Adrik lay in a pool of blood. His arm hung from his body at a bizarre angle. His face was white with shock. Genya knelt over him, tears streaming down her face as David and Ruslan stood above her with rifles, firing down at the attacking crowd with shaky aim. Stigg was nowhere to be seen. Had he fled on the Pelican or simply been left behind in the Spinning Wheel? The need to look for him was like a hook tugging under my skin, but I knew it would be suicide.

We shoved through the mob, and at a shouted order from her brother, Tamar slid into place and seized the Bittern’s wheel. The others lay down cover as Zoya and the other Squallers scrambled on deck. Mal stumbled as a bullet grazed his thigh, but Harshaw had hold of him, dragging him aboard.

“Get us moving!” shouted Nevsky. He signaled to the other soldiers, and they moved to array themselves along the hull’s railing to open fire against the Darkling’s Men. I set off flashes of light in the faces of everyone below us even as I ordered the soldiers to stop. Mal nodded to Nevsky, who repeated my command as I took a place at the railing. 

The Darkling’s men were easy to pick out in their charcoal and red and blue. I warned everyone onboard to look away, then honed in on each enemy soldier below. I called on the light in them and expanded it, told it to burn like so many suns. None of the Darkling’s people even had time to scream before they were reduced to ash so fine that hardly any was even able to reach the ground. 

Panic at their sudden blindness gave way to eerie quiet as Nikolai’s people recovered their sight, a quiet echoed by everyone onboard the Bittern as they realized what I had done.

“The Darkling and his monsters will not stay down long!” I called. “Get as many of our people out as you can, now!” I turned away before my expression could waver.

Mal and Tolya had taken their positions at the lines as Zoya filled the sails. But her power wasn’t enough.

“Nadia, we need you!” bellowed Tamar.

Nadia looked up from where she’d knelt beside her brother. Her face was streaked with tears, but she rose to her feet, swaying, and forced a draft up into the sails. The Bittern started to slide forward on its runners.

“We’re too heavy!” Zoya cried.

Nevsky grabbed my shoulder in a hard grip. “Survive,” he said roughly. “Help him.” Did he know what had happened to Nikolai?

“I will,” I vowed. “The other barge—”

He didn’t stop to listen. Nevsky shouted, “For the Twenty-Second!” He vaulted over the side, and the other soldiers followed without hesitation. They threw themselves forward toward the stairs and the mob in the Spinning Wheel.

Tamar called the order, and we shot from the hangar. The Bittern plunged sickeningly from the ledge, then the sails snapped into place and we were rising. I gathered my strength and cast us out of sight.

I looked back and caught the backs of the last of the soldiers, rifles at their shoulders, before they were swallowed by the stairwell. I felt my face start to crumple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have to listen to [this.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ic6wtXCxdEo) It’s like the theme song for the Darkling and Alina, and perfect and freaking hysterical. Which, I don't know about you, but I needed after this chapter. 
> 
> I have good taste, go listen. [Feiy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Feiy/pseuds/Feiy) told me about it in a comment, oh my god.


	14. All The More Reason

We bobbed and faltered, the little craft swinging precariously back and forth beneath the sails as Tamar and the crew tried to get control of the Bittern. Snow lashed at our faces in stinging gusts, and when the hull nicked the side of a cliff, the whole deck tilted, sending us all scrambling for purchase.

“Even us out!” I ordered. I pushed my concentration to the limit to erect a translucent, glowing curtain around us, inside my shield of invisibility. I was able to keep it hot enough to melt the snow and evaporate most of it before it could pelt us, but it was a struggle to maintain enough heat while ensuring the crew could still see outside of it. “We’re out of sight, but I can’t keep up like this forever, and Adrik needs a Healer!”

My eyes skittered over the deck. Misha had tucked himself against the side of the hull, his arms curled over his head. No one could stop to offer comfort. Everyone who knew how to work the lines was throwing themselves into it while the rest tried to stay out of the way and keep from being tossed around in the wind. Sergei was curled into a ball at the back of the ship, clutching one of the wooden posts that held up the railing and muttering to himself with wide eyes. I set aside a surge of anger at the sight of him--I couldn’t afford a lapse in concentration.

A nichevo’ya had taken a massive bite from Adrik’s shoulder, and Genya was trying to stop the bleeding, but she’d never been trained as a Healer. His lips were pale, his skin ice-cold, and as I watched, his eyes began to roll back in his head.

“Should I cauterize it?” I cried to her over the wind.

“I don’t know! He’ll lose his arm if you do, but if you don’t. . . .” She didn’t have to finish.

“Tolya!” I shouted. “We need you over here!”

Nadia turned, her eyes wide with terror, and the Bittern dipped.

“Keep us steady, Nadia,” Tamar demanded over the rush of wind, her voice commanding but even. She had been a perfect choice for captain. “Tolya, go!”

Harshaw came up behind the giant. He had a deep gash in his forearm, but he gripped the ropes and said, “Ready.” I could see Oncat’s shape squirming around in his coat.

Tolya’s brow was furrowed. Stigg was meant to be with us. Harshaw hadn’t been trained to work the lines, and wasn’t nearly as muscled.

“Just hold her steady,” he cautioned Harshaw. He looked to where Mal stood braced on the opposite side of the hull, hands tight to the ropes, muscles straining as we were buffeted by wind.

“Do it!” Mal shouted. He was bleeding from the bullet wound in his thigh. I wanted to help him, help Harshaw, but I already had too much to concentrate on.

They made the switch. The Bittern tilted, then righted itself as Harshaw let out a grunt.  
“Got it,” he grated through clenched teeth. It wasn’t as reassuring as he intended, but it was the best we had.

Tolya leapt down to Adrik’s side and began working. Nadia was sobbing, but she held the draft steady.

“Tolya’s good, Nadia, Adrik will be fine,” I promised, my voice impressively steady and far more confident than I felt.

“I moved carefully toward the large man where he was bent over Adrik. “Can you save the arm?” I asked quietly.

Tolya shook his head once. I gritted my teeth. He was a Heartrender, a warrior, and a killer—not a skilled Healer. “I can’t just seal the skin, either” he said quietly, “or he’ll bleed internally. I need to close the arteries.” I shuddered to think that I had almost closed his wounds myself. It would probably have killed him. “Can you warm him?”

I felt myself tense all over, then remembered Bagh-- I couldn’t think the name. I remembered her training and forced myself to focus on my breathing and find a calm place. Casting an airship invisible. Keeping a snowstorm out of our faces. And now, meticulous and careful, I cast light over Adrik, and his trembling calmed slightly.

“Work as fast as you can,” I said through a tight jaw, “and keep everyone away from me.” I huddled down on the deck and closed my eyes, concentrating for all I was worth.

We drove onward, sails taut with the force of Grisha wind. Tamar bent to the wheel, coat billowing behind her. I knew when we’d cleared the mountains because the Bittern ceased its shaking. I was surprised how much it helped my focus. I dropped the ribbon of heat around us and the relief of letting it go was so intense that I sagged. The air cut cold against my cheeks as we picked up speed, but without the protective cloak that had covered the deck, I was able to warm the cocoon of sunlight around Adrik considerably.

Time seemed to slow. Neither of them wanted to say it, but we could all see Nadia and Zoya beginning to tire. Mal and Harshaw couldn’t be faring well either.

“We need to set down,” I said.

“Where are we?” Harshaw asked. His crest of red hair lay flat on his head, soaked through with melted snow. I’d thought of him as unpredictable, maybe a little dangerous, but here he was—bloody, tired, and working the lines for hours without complaint. I felt my respect for him grow.

Tamar consulted her charts. “Just past the permafrost. If we keep heading south, we’ll be above more populated areas soon.”

“We could try to find woods for cover,” panted Nadia.

“I can keep us out of sight,” I said steadily. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“We’re too near Chernast to set down, ” Mal replied.

“Where are we headed, anyway?” asked Zoya.

Without thinking twice, I said, “The copper mine at Murin.” To the firebird.

There was a brief silence. Then Harshaw said what I knew a lot of them had to be thinking. “We could run. Every time we face those monsters, more of us die. We could take this ship anywhere. Kerch. Novyi Zem.”

“Like hell,” muttered Mal.

“This is my home,” said Zoya. “I won’t be chased out of it.”

“What about Adrik?” Nadia asked, her voice quavering.

“He lost a lot of blood,” said Tolya. “All I can do is keep his heart steady, try to give him time to recover.”

“He needs a real Healer.”

“If the Darkling finds us, a Healer won’t do him any good,” said Zoya.

For the first time, I cursed Maxim for staying behind in the White Cathedral. But I reminded myself that even if he had come with us, there was no guarantee he would have made it onto the Bittern. Images of Stigg the last time I had seen him, and Nikolai as he had thrown himself into the air on black wings played behind my eyes. My concentration wavered and I felt the careful light around us breaking apart, patches of the ship coming into view. I growled, reigning it back in by sheer force of will.

“You need rest too, Alina,” Mal said. I didn’t argue.

“Are you sure?” Zoya ground out. “After what she did back there, I’m not sure she’s even human.” She managed a haughty chuckle. “I knew you were unnatural, Starkov, but that was a whole new level.”

I closed my eyes against a wash of anger and emotion that I wasn’t brave enough to even try to sort through, and ignored her. With slow, meticulous care, I tried to think. Adrik might be stable. Or he might slip more deeply into a coma and never come out of it. But if we set down somewhere and were spotted, we’d all be in for death and worse. Mal was partially right. I knew I could keep this up if I could just stay focused, but eventually I would need to sleep.

The Darkling must know we wouldn’t land in Fjerda, deep in enemy territory. He might think we’d flee to West Ravka. He’d send scouts everywhere he could. Would he stop to grieve for his mother? Would there be enough of her left to bury? And if so, where would he take her?

“Murin,” I repeated, my tone set. “We go to Murin. We’ll figure out the rest from there. I won’t force anyone to stay. Nadia, Zoya, will you last that long?”They’d been flagging before, but I needed to believe they had some reserve of strength to call on.

“I know I can,” Zoya replied.

Nadia’s earnest chin lifted. “Try to keep up.”

My lips quirked, just for a moment. “Then let’s get there.”

Genya dug through the provisions and found a stash of jurda, the Zemeni stimulant that soldiers sometimes used on long watches. I had always stayed away from it in Cofton--it made me feel jittery and a little nauseated, but there was no other way to keep us on our feet and focused.

It had to be chewed, and soon we were all spitting the rust-colored juice over the side.  
“If this stains my teeth orange—” said Zoya.

“Then you’ll be alive to complain about orange-stained teeth,” I bit out.

“It will,” said Genya, “but I promise to put your teeth back whiter than they were before. I may even fix those weird incisors of yours.”

I did a poor job of stifling a laugh.

“There is nothing wrong with my teeth.”

“Not at all,” said Genya soothingly. “You’re the prettiest walrus I know. I’m just amazed you haven’t sawed through your lower lip.”

“Keep your hands off me, Tailor,” Zoya grumbled, “or I’ll poke your other eye out.”

By the time dusk came, Zoya didn’t have the energy to bicker. She and Nadia were entirely focused on keeping us aloft. I wasn’t much better, if for a different reason. The Squallers were pushing their power reserves to the limit--I was doing the same, but with my concentration and focus. Neither had ever been my strong suit.

David was able to take over the wheel for brief periods of time so Tamar could see to the wound on Mal’s leg and the gash on Harshaw’s arm. He, Tolya, and Mal alternated on the lines to give each other a chance to stretch.

Only Nadia and Zoya had no relief as they toiled beneath a crescent moon, though the others tried to find ways to help. Genya stood with her back to Nadia’s, bracing her so she could rest her knees and feet a bit. Now that the sun had set, Genya suggested we would no longer need cover, but I wouldn’t risk someone looking up and seeing a large, moving black spot in the shape of a hull and sails blocking out the stars. She alternated between helping Nadia and buttressing Zoya’s arms while she summoned. I could do my work standing, sitting, or walking, and it wasn’t especially physically demanding now that I didn’t need my arms to summon. I just had to go slow and be careful not to get distracted

“This is ridiculous,” Zoya forced out, her muscles shaking visibly.

“Do you want me to let go?” Genya asked.

“If you do, I’ll cover you in jurda juice.”

I held on to every scrap of banter. The ship was too quiet, and I could feel the day’s nightmares waiting to crowd in on me.

Misha hadn’t budged from his spot curled into the hull. He was clutching the wooden practice sword that Mal had found for him. My throat tightened as I realized he’d brought it with him on the terrace when Baghra made him escort her to the nichevo’ya. I called him over and asked him to huddle close to me under the auspices of keeping me warm. “Our supplies are over there if you’re hungry,” I said carefully, nodding toward the bags.

He shook his head.

“Will you eat something anyway? For me? Even something small?”

Another head shake. I could see him trembling slightly.

I crowded against him, unable to think of anything to say except, “That’s alright. You’ll eat when you’re ready.” _I hope._ I remembered sitting like this with Sergei in the tank room, searching for words of comfort and failing. My eyes slid to him, huddled at the back of the ship. He hadn’t moved. Had he been laying his plan in his mind even as I sat with him? Was it already done? When he had told me he just wanted to feel safe again, had it been his way of apologizing, of explaining? His fear had certainly seemed real. _Consider him a gift, Alina._

Misha didn’t just remind me of Sergei, though. He was every child whose parents went to war. He was every boy and girl at Keramzin. He was Baghra begging for her father’s attention. He was the Darkling learning loneliness at his mother’s knee. This was what Ravka did. It made orphans. It made misery. _No land, no life, just a uniform and a gun._ Nikolai had believed in something better. He’d had a plan for something better. And now. . . .

I took a shaky breath as quietly as I could so Misha wouldn’t overhear. I had to find a way to shut down my mind. If I thought of Nikolai, I would fall apart. If I thought of Baghra, I would fall apart. Stigg, probably left behind. Nevsky and his men. The Darkling, the look on his face as his mother had disappeared beneath the clouds. How could he be so cruel and still so human?

The night wore on as a sleeping Ravka passed beneath us. I alternated between closing my eyes to concentrate and wrenching them open to try and stay awake enough to do the same. I watched over Adrik. I made sure people took sips of water and ate rations and kept their tufts of dried jurda blossoms fresh. When anyone asked about Nikolai or Baghra, I told them I would explain when we landed, and not to ask me again. They figured out quickly to only talk to me when necessary.

I willed my mind to silence, tried to make it a blank field, white with snow, unmarred by tracks. Sometime around sunrise, I took a place at the railing, unable to ignore the screaming in my still muscles any longer. I made sure Misha was bundled under a coat, his head cradled on another.

That was when Adrik muttered in his sleep.

Nadia’s head whipped around. The Bittern bobbled.

“Focus!” barked Zoya. But she was smiling, and the dry fragments of a laugh were in her voice. We were all smiling, ready to cling to the barest scrap of hope.

 

* * * * *

 

We flew through the rest of the day and long into the next night. It was dawn on the second morning when we finally glimpsed the Sikurzoi. I had taken to pacing the ship blindly and hopping up and down to stay alert. I had no idea how Zoya and Nadia were still on their feet. At midday, we spotted the deep, jagged crater that marked the abandoned copper mine where Nikolai had suggested we stash the Bittern, a murky turquoise pool at its center.

The descent was slow and tricky, and as soon as the hulls scraped the crater floor, both Nadia and Zoya crumpled to the deck. They had pushed the limits of their power, and though their skin was flushed and glowing, they were completely and utterly exhausted.

Tugging on the ropes, the rest of them managed to get the ship out of sight beneath a ledge of rock. I sagged to my knees against the railing, finally letting the cloak of invisibility around the Bittern and the sheath of sunlight around Adrik drop. Anyone who climbed down into the mine would find it easily enough, but it was unlikely anyone would bother. The crater floor was littered with rusty machinery. An unpleasant smell came from the stagnant pool, and David said the water’s opaque turquoise color came from minerals leaching out of the rock. There were no signs of squatters. I spit the last of my jurda out with prejudice and lay down on the deck, head pillowed on an arm, and didn’t move.

While Mal and Harshaw secured the sails, Tolya carried Adrik from the Bittern. There was blood seeping from the stump where his arm had been, but he was fairly lucid and even drank a few sips of water.

Misha refused to budge from the hull. Mal tucked a blanket over his shoulders and left him with water, a piece of hardtack, and a slice of dried apple.

The others helped Zoya and Nadia off the ship, but when someone tried to get me up, I just growled at them impotently. “Leave it,” I heard Mal utter. “I’ve got her,” I felt myself picked up and carried over the side in his arms. Misha’s little feet scrabbled up and followed, his hand clinging to the fabric of my trousers. I reached a hand down blindly until it found one of his.

Our bedrolls were dragged into a nest beneath the shade of the overhang, and without another word, we fell into troubled and fitful sleep. Even Sergei laid down. We posted no watch. If we had somehow been followed, we had no fight left to give.

As my eyes slid shut, I glimpsed Tolya sneaking back onto the Bittern and somehow forced myself awake again. He emerged a moment later with a tightly wrapped bundle. His gaze darted to Adrik, and my stomach dropped as I realized what he was carrying. I let my weary eyes close. I didn’t want to know where Tolya planned to bury Adrik’s arm.

We were woken once when the sun was overhead by Sergei screaming in his sleep. Tamar slowed his heart to calm him. I reassured Misha, who was huddled against my front, and the world drifted off again easily enough.

 

* * * * *

 

When I woke, it was early evening, the light already fading as the last of the sun disappeared below the horizon, beyond the trees. I felt half-asleep and groggy, my body heavy like I’d had too much to drink and it hadn’t all worked its way out. Most of the others were still sleeping soundly. Genya was pinning up Adrik’s sleeve. Sergei was huddled against a tree, wrapped in his bedroll. I had no idea what to do about him. I was so angry I didn’t think I was the best one to try, anyway.

I found Mal coming down the road that led around the side of the crater, carrying a bag full of grouse.

“I thought we’d stay tonight,” he said quietly, “make a fire. We can leave for Dva Stolba in the morning.”

I nodded, unable to summon the energy to answer properly. I was eager to get moving, but we’d hardly get far if we left while we were all exhausted.

He must have sensed it because he said, “Adrik could use the rest. We all could. I’m afraid if we keep pushing, one of them will break.”

“I nodded, didn’t I? Power isn’t the most important thing,” I said absently, remembering all the warnings I had foolishly ignored, the stories of how the hunger for it had destroyed greater people than me. I yawned at length and stretched my torso out. “I’ll bring some kindling down,” I said. “I could use the walk.” I pushed carefully to my feet.

He touched my arm. “Alina.”

“Hm?”

“About what happene--”

“Don’t,” I interrupted firmly. “I won’t be long.” I pushed past him. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want words of comfort. I wanted this to be over. Finally. I wanted to push on until I could turn my pain into anger, into physical things and bring them howling to the Darkling’s door.

I made my way up to the woods that surrounded the mine. This far south, the trees were different, taller and more sparse, their bark red and porous. I ventured much farther than I intended to and was on my way back to the mine, my arms full of the driest branches I could find, when my head jerked up and I whirled around, dropping them with a clatter. I felt a nichevo’ya-- only to realize a split second later that it wasn’t a nichevo’ya at all. Suddenly it was hard to breathe.

I peered between the sunlit trunks, waiting, trying to regain some calm even while I made sure I was ready should I need to defend myself. The silence was dense, as if every small creature were holding its breath. Then I heard it—a soft rustling. I let my head turn slowly, carefully, following the sound into the trees. My eyes fastened on a flicker of movement when he showed himself, the silent beat of a shadowy wing.

Nikolai was perched in the branches of a tree, his dark gaze fastened on me.

His chest was bare and lined in black as if darkness had shattered just beneath his skin. He’d lost his boots somewhere, and his bare feet gripped the bark. His toes had become black talons.

He had dried blood on his hands. And near his mouth.

I felt my heart shudder and crack. “Nikolai?” I whispered brokenly.

He flinched back.

“Please. Please don’t go--”

But he leapt into the air, dark wings shaking the branches as he broke through them to the blue sky beyond.

“Nikolai!”

There was no sound but the beat of wings as they grew farther away.

I wanted to scream. So I did. I pressed my hands to my mouth and shrieked out my anger, my heartache, my despair, until my throat was raw. I couldn’t stop. I clawed at the bark of a tree, hit it and kicked it until my hands and feet hurt.

I hadn’t wept on the Bittern or at the mine, but now I sank to the forest floor, my screams turning to sobs, to silent, desperate racking gasps. They hurt, as if they might crack my ribs open. I kept thinking of Nikolai’s torn trousers and had the foolish thought that he’d be mortified to see his clothes in such a state.

I felt a moment of terror when I realized he had followed us all the way from the Spinning Wheel. How? Could one of the nichevo’ya have recovered enough to do the same? Would Nikolai be compelled to tell the Darkling of our whereabouts? How much of him was left inside that twisted; tortured body?

I felt it then, the vibration along that invisible tether. I shoved it away furiously. I would not go to the Darkling now. I wouldn’t go to him ever again. But still, I knew wherever he was, he was grieving.

I didn’t know how, or even when, but the ache in my chest bled along the tether and into his, until I couldnùt tell where one stopped and the other started. Without meaning to, I found myself leaving my body and speeding away.

In only a moment, I was on a pointed terrace in the cold, dim air outside whatever was left of the Spinning Wheel.

 

* * * * *

 

The Darkling stood at the point of the balcony looking out. All I saw was his back, and nichevo’ya taking shape and vanishing as they brushed close to him. They looked like they were trying to comfort him, but hesitated to get too close. A gust of wind tore over the terrace, making his kefta billow. Strands of hair, loose and displaced, were buffeted like fraying strands of rope.

I watched his back in silence, trying to wrench myself away, back to where my body sat hunched over on a carpet of needles. Back to where I should be. But I couldn’t make myself move.

“I’m surprised you came.”

If I hadn’t been so weary, so spent, I would have jumped. Then again, I should learn to stop being surprised by him.

“So am I.” My voice should have been choked from crying, but it was clear and steady. It was sad. I walked forward to stand next to him, and when I glanced over, I realized I had been wrong--he wasn’t staring out. He was staring down. This must be the place where Baghra had fallen. The trails of old tears were on his otherwise clear face. My stomach turned around a shard of ice.

As if he could feel it, he breathed. A quiet, sharp, almost amused exhale.

“She was happy, once,” he said, distant. “Long ago. She laughed. Smiled. Sometimes she was even playful.” A smile, hundreds of years away, flitted over his face and vanished just as quickly. I couldn’t picture Baghra like that, light and happy.

“She was never soft, never easy, but when she trained me, she was as encouraging as she was demanding.” I saw his gloved hand clench. “I became everything she wanted. I became more. I learned everything she taught. I surpassed her. I made a safe place for Grisha. Somewhere we weren’t hunted. It was the first time in history we could stay in one place more than a handful of months. I made us a home.”

 _Come home, Alina._ I wondered if he had been saying more than I had realized.

“And the more I succeeded, the more I accomplished, the more she disapproved. With every achievement, every step toward our goals, she grew more cold.” There was a hard edge to the words. There was bitter resentment. I even thought I could hear pain underneath. As much as I hated him, as much as I wanted to kill him with my bare hands, I thought I could understand, and I couldn’t begrudge him that.

He looked out into the sky, out toward mountains I had severed. “We had a fight one day, one of many by then. She left for the hut by the lake and never returned. I kept her quarters for over thirty years.” He turned to face me, and I felt my eyes go wide at what I saw. That yawning void, that chasm, filled his eyes, naked and open and laid bare, and his face was almost inhuman. It looked devoid of life, of any soul. Bleak and ancient and tired in a way I couldn’t possibly understand. In a way no one but Baghra could have. Would I look like that some day? Would I know how it felt?

“I did everything she wanted,” he said, “and she chose you.”

I rocked back in surprise, but his hands shot out and wrapped around my wrists. The world around us snapped into place, gray and quiet and terrible. I could hear the wind, feel the cold of it on my cheeks. I could see one of the terrace doors, knocked sideways off its hinge. I could see his nichevo’ya, hovering in the air all around us as if lost and waiting for direction. He looked hollowed out, but his grip was crushing and his eyes were suddenly sharp as blades.

“It was never about me,” I said, disbelieving. I could hear the confusion and denial in my voice. “Everything she did was for you.”

His grip tightened and I bit down a cry of protest. For a moment, he bared his teeth. Then his expression went suddenly flat and that echoing nothing returned. His grip loosened, but I didn’t pull away. It felt as if something in him would snap if I did.

“She refused to train me because I cost her you,” I said. _“After_ you blinded her, after I failed to kill us. I was the world’s only chance and she wouldn’t help me, because helping me wouldn’t get you back.”

His face was frighteningly expressionless, and I felt a panic I realized I had never felt around him before. Not when he hunted me, not when he threatened to kill Mal. “You didn’t teach yourself those new tricks, Alina,” he said.

“Yes. I did.” I saw an echo of a shadow of surprise beyond the dead chasm. “But she did give me one last lesson. It was two days ago.” I nodded to the mountains in the distance. “And it only happened because someone she actually _did_ like promised to kill me if I turned into you. But even then, she wanted you to live. She was glad I failed at the chapel. And it had nothing to do with the fact that I was standing in front of her. Every lesson she ever gave me was in the hope that it would save you.”

He stared at me. Then, abruptly, he let his hands drop and took a single step back. A pain so massive it was almost frightening washed over his face an instant before his eyes slid closed.

“The last conversation we had,” I went on, and a stranger would have called my voice gentle, “was about her regret over what she had done to you.” His eyes opened and he looked at me. “That she made mistakes when she raised you, that she taught you lessons she regretted. I know she wanted you to be strong. Powerful. Capable. She wanted to raise you into someone who couldn’t be hurt the way she had been. Who couldn’t be betrayed by trust or love. Who wouldn’t care for things that passed by while you went on. I think I see where some of it comes from now, in you.”

And if he was to be believed, he held on to the idea of _me_ for hundreds of years despite all of Baghra's lessons. The one person who he thought could understand him. He had decided lifetimes ago that when the Sun Summoner came, he would let that person in. But what was really left of the young man, the child perhaps, who had made that decision? How much of it survived?

“But she didn’t want you to be this,” I went on. I took a small, hesitant step forward. He watched me, his eyes intent as he stood utterly motionless. “She didn’t,” I felt my brows draw together, a line forming between them, “want you to be someone who doesn’t know when to stop.”

The wind tugged at his tousled hair, and his shadow creatures continued to slip in and out of sight. I suddenly thought to wonder if any of them were mine. But no. If any of those creatures still lived, he wouldn’t have risked bringing them today if there was even a chance I could have influenced them.

I felt rooted to the spot. Playing behind my eyes over and over was Nikolai, rising into the air on wings of black. Sergei’s crumpled form dropping to the terrace like a stone. Baghra plummeting, jumping over the railing fast as a bolt of lightning, trailing ribbons of shadow. But I couldn’t leave. The Darkling said nothing, only kept watching me, unmoving. I couldn’t pick anything out on his face. It seemed like he was waiting for something, but I could hardly guess at what.

“I’m sorry she’s gone,” I finally whispered. Baghra had never gone easy on me, never let anything slide because I was pretty or clever or because I made the right joke. She had never accepted anything but the absolute most that could be wrung out of me. I knew it had all been because she needed me to be strong so what was left of her son could survive, but I couldn’t begrudge her that. If I’d had a mother, I wanted to think she could have loved me that much. I thought that, in the end, Baghra had at least come to see me as a person. For a creature as ancient as she was, that couldn't be a small thing. The truth was, I was going to miss her, too.

For a moment, I would have sworn his eyes shone with faint wetness. I saw him go rigid and close his lids again. I thought it strange that even now, even though I wasn’t really here, he would do that in front of me. In front of anyone. Most of the time I was never certain he even blinked.

I felt anger prick at my skin, as if the air was filled with it. I felt a ripple of it along the tether that connected us. Suddenly, I remembered times I had felt something similar when he had visited me at the Little Palace. I remembered the way he reacted sometimes, as if he knew what I was feeling. I remembered knowing what he had felt when he had kissed me after the ball.

I went still. I had known I could feel his emotions over the tether sometimes, but this was different. This existed outside of that tether. I was feeling his anger. I had been feeling his emotions. For a moment, I felt outside of my body. It was disorienting, given that I was already literally outside of it.

Was it anger from grief? Anger at me? How much did he blame me for what Baghra had done? Did he want a fight? If I was honest, I wanted the same thing--but I wouldn’t give it to him. I had no interest in giving him anything he wanted, in cooperating with him ever again.

Again, he simply stared at me, his eyes so pale in the light they almost matched the snow. They were chips of gray ice, and I wondered exactly how much he could see. What did he want? He had called me here, but now he just stood, saying nothing, doing nothing.

I felt a spike of my own anger. I didn’t need to be here. I _shouldn’t_ be here. I trying to _console_ him for Saint’s sake--the Darkling, the cause of all this, of so many deaths. How many more people had he murdered after he had taken Nikolai from me, from our people?

I felt my face contort and moved to take a step back, disgusted, but he closed the distance between us and gripped my waist tightly. He put his face to my hair and I heard him release a shaky breath. “Don’t,” he said. “Not yet. Stay.” His fingers dug in.

I turned my face away, expression hard. “You took one of my best friends today. You condemned him to life as a monster. You murder our people and blame it on me.”

“I know,” he breathed into my hair. “Stay, Alina. Stay. I can’t. . . ." His voice shook something in me. It sounded so human, so real, so. . . wounded. I had never heard him sound like this.

Something in me hardened to iron even as chips started to flake from a great, brittle wall. “I hate you.” My voice came out wavering.

“I know.” I felt his lips quirk up, but I didn’t need to pull away to know it wasn’t a happy expression. He ran a hand over my hair and put his face to my neck, running his nose up it and stopping just under my ear. "But you came. Just stay a moment longer."

For a moment, I just stood there, rigid. Finally I said, “Let go and I will. For a moment,” I reiterated.

He inhaled deeply, then stepped back. His long fingers slipping from my waist left trails of heat where they passed, and his warm breath on my neck nearly made me shiver.

“What else did she tell you?” He asked.

I felt a touch on my body, back in the forest, and my head shot to the side as if I could see it in the distance. I heard Mal’s voice, but it was hazy and distorted, like the people in my visions were when I came to the Darkling. I felt cool air on my cheeks--the sun had set. No wonder he had come looking. I should return, tell him I was alright. The last thing everyone needed right now was another scare.

“What else?” The Darkling pushed. His expression became sharp, and I wondered if he knew exactly what was distracting me. Mal had a hand on my face now, and I thought he was saying my name.

I considered the Darkling for a moment. “When she came out onto the terrace today, she told me not to fail her again. You thought she was telling me to defeat you.”

It took him only an instant to understand, and that time I knew exactly what I saw: sorrow, aching and deep and sharp. He covered it, but not as quickly as he might have.

I nodded. “She was telling me to save you." I paused. "Everything she did was for you, Aleksander. Always.” I hesitated to use his name. It made me uncomfortable, it felt almost like a secret I shouldn’t have. Or perhaps it was a secret part of me didn’t want, was afraid to hold. But I had needed him to hear me.

He let himself lean back against the railing, and it was less graceful that his usual perfect control. I saw it again, that look like he was taking his sorrow in hand, and that same darkening in his eyes as the day I'd used his name for the first time.

“What else,” he said. His voice was barren, as if he was reciting a litany. But his eyes were no longer hollowed out. I could almost see him in them, his normal, controlled fire, his unerring presence.

In the forest, I felt Mal shaking me, shouting my name. I looked into the distance again, my brow pinching together. I needed to go.

Instead, I told the Darkling, “She told me who your grandfather was.” _Wait, Mal,_ I begged. _Wait just a moment longer._

The Darkling’s eyes snapped to mine, though his face was a careful mask. I had his interest now, and it had nothing to do with his mother.

I felt a jostle as Mal picked me up and began running.

“And what did she tell you about Morozova, Alina? Did she tell you where to find the firebird?”

I felt my face go hard. His mother had just died. I had come when I shouldn’t have. I had stayed when I shouldn’t have, and at the first chance he got. . . .

“She didn’t know,” I said. “And she didn’t need to," I added, my voice hard, cold steel. "The last thing she told me was that she regretted what she had turned you into,” I lied.

I was done. I was done mourning his loss and Baghra's regrets, and I was furious that I had pitied him for even a moment.

“Learn when to stop," I spat.

In a rush, I shot back to my body.

 

* * * * *

 

My eyes flew open and I went rigid in Mal’s arms.

“Alina!” he cried, relief saturating his voice. His sprint slowed to a jog and then a stop, and he lowered me to the ground gently, hesitantly.

“I’m ok,” I assured him breathlessly. “I’m fine. I promise.”

He gave me a critical once over. When I had caught my breath, he slowly and carefully helped me to my feet. “You’re sure?” One hand stayed on my lower back.

I laughed mirthlessly. “Positive.” Before I could say anything else, he pulled me in and held me almost too tightly against himself, his arms iron bands around me.

“What happened?” he breathed against my hair. His voice was unsteady. He pulled back just enough to look at me and moved his hands to grip my upper arms. His eyes were inches from mine, and searching. Worried, though he was trying not to show most of it.

I swallowed around the sudden catch in my throat. “I went to talk to him,” I answered hesitantly.

I expected Mal to be angry. I would have been. I expected him to tell me what a foolish thing it had been to do. Reckless, careless, dangerous, selfish. But he didn’t do either. He didn’t even look surprised, he just seemed to take it in stride. “And? Did you get anything useful?”

I saw no judgement in his face, so after a moment I just shook my head and brought my hands up to grip his arms. As if it made him realize what he was doing, how close he was, he let go and stepped back. It was such a small thing--how could it still hurt so much?

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asked. He stood a respectful distance away, and his face was calm under the lingering traces of worry. But he was holding something back. I could see it in the tightness of his jaw, the careful shutter behind his eyes.

I wanted to go to him, to close the distance and step back into his arms. I nearly did. But then I remembered the night in my room. I remembered that I had promised myself I’d never force something on Mal again. So all I did was nod and look away.

We started making our way back to camp under a diffuse, white-gold glow that I kept over our heads. I stooped to pick up kindling as we passed, and Mal joined me. “It doesn’t cost anything to see him,” I explained eventually. “Except for these odd and inexplicable feelings of blind rage I seem to keep coming away with. It’s quite mysterious, really.”

“You’ll have to tell David. Maybe he can do a field study.” A long moment later, he said, “You shouldn’t do something like that alone out here. It was almost dark when I found you.”

“I’m the Sun Summoner, Mal. It gets dark when I say it does. Or when I more or less pass out doing stupid things and the actual sun goes down.” I paused. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t plan it, I mean.”

“But you wanted to? Talk to him.”

I snorted. “It was technically my choice, if that’s what you’re asking. He can’t force me.” I frowned. “I don’t think so, at least.”

He was quiet for a while after that. Eventually, he said softly, “Alina, the others. . . Don’t shut them out, alright? They need to grieve with you.”

I felt my lips thin. “I’m not one of them anymore, Mal, remember? They need to grieve among themselves. _I_ need to figure out how to keep us alive. Keep them alive, anyway,” I amended. The Darkling would never let me go now. Not after the Spinning Wheel. Not after Baghra. He would hunt me for eternity. “I wouldn’t know what to say anyway. I never do.”

“Then just let them talk.”

I didn’t want to share this hurt. I didn’t want them to see that I was frightened. I didn’t want them to see that I was less and less certain we were doing the right thing, less certain of the firebird, of the thing I wanted so much it was an ache, of the thing we had sacrificed so much to get.

When we were almost there, Mal paused. I could feel them ahead, a campfire crackling at their center. Someone had cleaned and spitted the game Mal had caught and had it roasting over the flame.

“Out with it,” I prompted when he didn’t speak.

He hesitated. “I just. . . I want to tell you that I’m sorry, Alina.” He paused. His eyes were intent on me, but soft. Sympathetic. “This is easy for me. He’s only ever been my enemy. I've only ever hated him.”

I stilled. It felt like my blood had hardened. Mal just looked back at me calmly. He looked at me like he understood.

“I’m not going to pretend I know what you’re going through.” The sincerity was plain in his voice. “I know there’s no way I can. But I know he meant something to you. I know he still does, even after everything he’s done. Even now.”

I wanted to deny it, but something gummed up my throat.

“You’re not like normal Grisha, not really, and it isn’t just because of the amplifiers,” he said, glancing at my wrist where the fetter was tucked under a sleeve. “It isn’t even the things he’s done to you.” His eyes were vivid blue in the light, gilt with soft gold. What I saw in them made it feel like pieces of me were splintering. “He was the first person who really believed in you. Who saw what you could become. Whatever else he’s done, he helped you find yourself.” He paused. “All I ever did was give you a reason to hold back. To be something less than who you really were. Who you were meant to be.

“Maybe he’s the only one who can really understand that part of you. I hope not. But I just. . . I want you to know I’m sorry. For everything.”

My vision was blurring with unshed tears even as I fought to push them down. Where was this coming from? When had he turned into a person who could hate something but still understand it, still see its value? When had he become so calm and measured?

“I don’t want to care about him,” I said, the wetness coming out in my voice. “I hate him,” I added emphatically.

“I know,” he replied gently.

_I know._

Impulsively, selfishly, I blurted, “I love you.”

His throat bobbed. “I know,” he repeated. His voice was less steady this time, less sure. I saw his fingers tighten around his bundle of wood.

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” I said brokenly. “It was never supposed to be like this.”

“What if it was?”

“How can you be so calm?” I demanded loudly, angry tears spilling over. “How can you be alright with any of this?”

He laughed, breathy and bitter. “Who said I am? Alina. . . I’ll stand with you. I’ll fight with you, I’ll help you however I can. Whatever you need, I’ll find a way to get it for you, and I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me. But the truth is, after we find the firebird, you won’t need me. You never did, not really. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and it has nothing to do with you being Grisha.

“Alright with it?” He repeated. His chest swelled with a mirthless laugh. “I _hate_ it. But it’s the right thing to do. It’s all I can do to make up for--” His jaw clenched. “I have spent too long holding you back instead of helping you, and I will move heaven and earth to make up for that.”

“Holding me-- Are you--” I stammered and cut myself off with a growl. “If you don’t like it then why are you like this?” I asked angrily. “Why aren’t you--” _Why aren’t you fighting for what you want?_ I was going to ask. _Why are you lying to both of us?_ But I knew the answers, and even if I hadn’t, they weren’t my questions. They were questions that belonged to a woman who had died underground, who had wasted away after one last failure. I didn’t want to ask those questions. There was no point, and all they would do in the end was hurt us both more. Everything Mal’s life had been, everything he had been as person had been upended because of me. Destroyed because of me. Wasn’t the absolute least I owed him to let him make his own decisions?

I fought to control myself, and he took a small step toward me. “This isn’t what either of us wanted,” he said gently. “But it’s what we have. I’m not what you need, but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to do everything I can to help you. If I’m not going to do everything I can to make up for the years I was a blind, selfish fool. I lost those years with you. Then when I had you, all I did was push you away.

“If the only thing I can do is protect you, keep you safe while you become that person you were always meant to be. . . that’s enough. It has to be enough. It’s more than I deserve.”

“Nikolai is going to send you away,” I blurted. It was a challenge. A shove despite my determination to avoid doing exactly that.

His only reaction was a small, sad, lopsided smile. “I figured.”

I stared at him in shock, my brows pinched together. “You want. . . you’re ok with that? After everything? You’re going to do all this, go through all this, and then just. . . just leave?”

He looked at me like I was missing something, or like he was trying to find a way to get me to understand. “I will do anything, _anything_ I need to do to make sure you’re safe and that you get what you deserve, Alina. I’ll travel through the mountains with a band of fugitives. I’ll live in caves. I’ll starve. I’ll follow, I’ll lead, I will die. When the time comes that me leaving will be the best thing for you, I’ll do that, too.” He smiled sadly. “It’s not like it will be hard to find news of how you’re doing. Besides, I’m sure we’ll get to visit from time to time. Maybe holidays.” I didn’t think he believed that.

Angry, broken light surged inward and clung to my form. “You never held me back! I held myself back! It was my choice to make, even if I didn’t know I was making it, and I don’t regret it for a second,” I finished savagely.

It was a moment before he replied. “I’m sorry it cost you who you really were. But if I’m being honest, I’ll never regret a moment of it, either, not a single moment I’ve had with you. What I regret is that I was a complete idiot for so many years, for having you in front of me and not realizing how--” His voice wavered and he closed his eyes, his jaw tightening.

“I love you too, Alina,” he finally said. “I always will. You’ll always be. . . .” He didn’t finish. Silence hung over us like a damning weight, like the final toll of a chapel bell.

“Maybe you didn’t see me, Mal. But I didn’t say anything, either. I waited too long. Maybe you were stupid. If you were, then I was a coward. Which is really worse?”

For a long moment we just stood staring at one another. Then his eyes closed and I saw him tense. He covered it with a smile and just quietly said, “We should get back.”

After another beat, I brushed green needles from my coat and let Mal lead me the rest of the way back to the mine. I didn’t have it in me to even try to stop the tears streaming down my face.

By the time we got all the way down to the crater floor, it was full dark and the others had lit lanterns beneath the overhang.

“Took your time, didn’t you?” said Zoya. “Did we have to freeze while you two frolicked around in the woods?”

“Someone has to perpetuate the next generation,” I said, but my voice was too hollow for it to carry. So I amended, “Turned out I needed a good cry.”

“Next time invite me,” she said. “I could use one too.”

It was a force of will not to look at her in shock.

Mal and I dropped the kindling we’d gathered into the firepit someone had made, and I knelt to pet Oncat on Harshaw’s shoulder. She gave a brief hiss, but allowed the contact. I was grateful, and it was fitting - I had never really liked animals, but right then, I needed something soft and furry.

Soon, despite my preoccupation, the smell of roasting meat had my mouth watering.

We sat around the fire, eating and passing around a flask of kvas, watching the flames play over the hull of the Bittern as the branches crackled and popped. I could still hardly look at Sergei, so Nadia coaxed him to join us. It took some work--apparently someone had thought to look him over while I’d been gone, and whether it had been his fall or something the Darkling or his men had done before that, Sergei wasn’t in good shape.

To my surprise, Misha had huddled next to Mal. Sergei went to bed early, which was fine with me. We had a lot to talk about—who would go with us into the Sikurzoi and who would remain in the valley, whether or not people would even feel safe staying. I rolled my wrist, thinking of the firebird. It helped to focus on that, to think of it instead of the bleak emptiness in the Darkling’s eyes, of the black sheen of Nikolai’s, the dark crust of blood near his lips.

Abruptly, Zoya said, “I should have known Sergei couldn’t be trusted. He was always weak,” she cast a glare at his back as she said it. My eyes darted to him, but his breathing seemed slow and steady. I wasn’t sure Zoya’s words were fair, but I also wasn’t sure I cared. Either way, I saw no harm in letting her vent. It was probably the most constructive outlet we could hope for after everything that had happened.

“Oncat never liked him,” Harshaw added.

Despite myself, I felt my lips twitch upward wryly.

Genya fed a branch to the fire. “Do you think he was planning it all along?” She, at least, kept her voice down.

“I’ve been wondering about that,” I said. “The timing of everything was too convenient. I thought he’d be better once we got out of the White Cathedral and the tunnels, but he almost seemed worse. I don’t think he was that good an actor, but I also don’t know what someone’s capable of when they’re like that.”

“Him getting worse could have been anything,” said Tamar. “Cave-in, militia attack. Tolya’s snoring.”

Tolya threw a pebble at her and rumbled quietly, “Nikolai’s men should have watched him more closely.”

“They were hardly under orders to treat him as a threat, Tolya,” I pointed out. “Someone with combat sickness like that, a lot of time what they need is peace.”

“Did the Darkling really just. . . hand him over?” asked Nadia.

I glanced over at Misha. He was fast asleep beside Mal, still clutching that wooden sword.

“More or less,” I said darkly, remembering the sickening noise he had made when the nichevo’ya had dropped him.

“And that doesn’t bother anyone?” Zoya asked. “He could be a spy.”

I snorted derisively. “Yeah. Real useful spy. He can’t even pee without help. Besides, the Darkling doesn’t work like that. If he wanted to plant a spy, he wouldn’t be that obvious about it.”

“What about Nikolai?” she asked. “What did the Darkling do to him?”

I looked away and clenched my fists. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then how are we supposed to help?”

I wanted to laugh at that. But she was right--she and the other Grisha had years more training than I did, had read dozens, hundreds more books. I recounted the story with as little detail as possible.

“Shit,” Tamar breathed.

“More or less,” I said roughly.

“Can it be undone?” Zoya asked.

“How the hell would I know?” I said more sharply than I intended. My temper wasn’t even directed at her, not really. I was angry at myself.

“It might be possible,” David offered. My eyes snapped up to him, and I felt a surge of hope in my chest for the first time in what felt like forever. “I’d need to study him. It’s merzost. New territory. I wish I had Morozova’s journals.”

I felt the hope leave me like steam from a hot windowpane. “I’m fairly certain those should all be burned. Then the ashes set on fire. Then those ashes should be burned and thrown into the heart of a volcano which we then sink deep into the ocean. That man was an asshole.”

“He was brilliant,” David said, appalled.

“Fine. He was a brilliant asshole.”

“Is it even possible to set ashes on fire?” Nadia asked.

“Not unless you add oil or wax,” Harshaw answered. “Ash by itself doesn’t provide any fuel for the flame.”

“Dream-killer,” I said. Then I sighed. “It doesn’t matter anyway. They’re back home again. Or they will be as soon as the Darkling finds them.”

Abruptly, Adrik snarled, “I’m glad Sergei’s alive. I want to wring his neck myself.”

“Keep talking that loud when you say it and you should get your chance sooner rather than later,” I said. “Unless you feel like attacking a man in his sleep, then by all means.”

“No,” Zoya said to Adrik, “you’d need two hands to strangle him.”

There was a brief, terrible silence, then Adrik scowled and said, “Okay, stab him.”

I laughed. Zoya grinned and passed him the flask. Nadia just shook her head. Sometimes I still forgot they were really just soldiers, even though most of them had never seen combat before the Darkling’s invasion. I didn’t doubt that Adrik would mourn the loss of his arm. I wasn’t even sure how it would impact his ability to summon. But I remembered him standing in front of me at the Little Palace, demanding the right to stay and fight with us. As tough as he was, even Baghra may have liked him. At the thought, my smile faltered.

I thought of Botkin, pushing me to run another mile, to take another punch. I remembered the words he’d spoken to me so long ago: _Steel is earned._ Adrik had that steel. So did Nadia. She’d proven it in our flight from the peaks of the Elbjen. I had wondered what Tamar saw in her. But Nadia had been in some of the worst fighting at the Little Palace. She’d lost her best friend and the life she’d always known. Yet she hadn’t fallen apart like Sergei or chosen life underground like Maxim. Through all of it, she’d stayed steady. I had to admit that she had much more strength than I’d ever given her credit for.

When Adrik handed the flask back, Zoya took a deep drink and said, “Do you know what Baghra told me at my first lesson with her?” She lowered her voice to imitate Baghra’s throaty rasp. “Pretty face. Too bad you have porridge for brains.”

Harshaw snorted. “I set fire to her hut in class.”

“Of course you did,” said Zoya.

“Accidentally! She refused to ever teach me again. Wouldn’t even speak to me. I saw her on the grounds once, and she walked right by. Didn’t say a word, just whacked me on the knee with her stick. I still have a lump.” He yanked up his trouser leg, and sure enough, there was a knob of bone visible beneath the skin.

“I thought she didn’t train everyone,” I said.

“She doesn’t, not like she trained you. Not private lessons,” Ruslan supplied. “But every class spent at least a little time with her sooner or later. It was like a rite of passage.”

“I had some kind of block where I couldn’t summon for a while.” Nadia said, her cheeks pinking as we all turned our attention to her. “She put me in a room and released a hive of bees in it.”

“What?” I squawked. It wasn’t just the bees that had shocked me. It was the fact that I’d endured Baghra’s abuse for months at the Little Palace, and she had never mentioned that other Grisha got blocks.

“What did you do?” Tamar asked incredulously.

“I managed to summon a current to send them up the chimney, but I got stung so many times, I looked like I had firepox.”

“I have never been more glad I’m not Grisha,” Mal said with a shake of his head.

Zoya lifted her flask. “Let’s hear it for the lone otkazat’sya.”

“Baghra hated me,” David said quietly.

Zoya waved dismissively. “We all felt that way.”

“No, she really hated me. She taught me once with the rest of the Fabrikators my age, then she refused to ever meet with me again. I used to just stay in the workshops when everyone else had her classes.”

“Why?” Harshaw asked, scratching Oncat under the chin.

David shrugged. “No idea.”

“I know why,” said Genya. I waited, wondering if she really did. “Animal magnetism,” she continued. “One more minute in that hut with you, and she would have torn off all your clothes.”

David considered this. “That seems improbable. I was ten.”

“Impossible,” Mal and I said at the same time.

Genya laughed and planted a firm kiss on David’s mouth.

I picked up a stick and gave the fire a poke, sending sparks shooting upward. “Maybe you reminded her of someone.” Someone like her father, so obsessed with knowledge that he’d been blind to his child’s suffering, to his wife’s neglect. And sure enough, David had created lumiya just “for fun,” essentially handing the Darkling the means to enter the Fold. But David wasn’t like Morozova. He’d been there for Genya when she’d needed him. He was no warrior, but he’d still found a way to fight for her. He was obsessed with his science, but he didn’t forget about the world or about the fact that it had people in it.

I looked around at our strange, battered little group, at Adrik with his missing arm, gazing moon-eyed at Zoya; at Harshaw and Tolya, watching as Mal sketched our route in the dirt. I saw Genya grin, her scars pulling taut as David gestured wildly, trying to explain his idea for a brass arm to Nadia as she ignored him, running her fingers through the dark waves of Tamar’s hair.

None of them were easy or soft or simple. They were like me, nursing hurts and hidden wounds, all broken in different ways. We didn’t quite fit together. We had edges so jagged we cut each other sometimes, but as I curled up on my side, the warmth of the fire at my back, I felt a wash of gratitude, soft, but so sweet it made my throat ache. Fear came with it. Keeping them close was a luxury I would pay for. It meant I had more to lose.

But there would always be something to lose. All the more reason to appreciate it while I could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some definite problems with this chapter, but if I didn't post it, I was just going to keep messing with it for another month.
> 
> The stuff about Baghra in the past is more canon from the Darkling short I linked idr how many chapters back.
> 
> The balcony scene should be uncannily familiar if you've read [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1987989) from ignitesthestars (aka Grisha sempai), and I also took what Mal said about "He's only ever been my enemy" from a short of hers. She is, of course, the mind who wrote the seminal Grisha fic, [Good Morning Midnight.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1935132/chapters/4179585) It was the first fic I ever liked enough to actually download.


	15. Beznako

In the end, everyone stayed. Even Zoya, though she kept up a steady stream of complaints all the way to Dva Stolba. She only shut up when a glow started clinging to my skin.

We’d agreed to split into two groups. Tamar, Nadia, and Adrik would travel with David, Genya, Sergei, and Misha. We had argued back and forth about whether or not Sergei could be trusted not to make a scene in town, but in the end decided he could stay out of the way until lodgings in one of the settlements at the southeast edge of the valley were secured, and then just hole up there. Genya would have to keep her face hidden, but she didn’t seem to mind. She’d wrapped her shawl around her head and declared, “I shall be a woman of mystery.”

Mal and I would travel into the Sikurzoi with Zoya, Harshaw, and Tolya. Because we were so close to the border, we knew we might be facing an increased military presence, but we hoped we could blend in with the refugees trying to get through the Sikurzoi before the first snows came. I pointed out that a giant Shu might punch a hole in that plan, but Tolya said that his countrymen sometimes hired themselves out as guides through the mountains.

If we weren’t back from the mountains in two weeks, Tamar would meet with any forces the Apparat might send to Caryeva. I didn’t like the idea of sending her and Nadia alone, but apparently Mal and I couldn’t cut our group down any further. Shu raiders were known to pick off Ravkan travelers near the border, and we needed skilled fighters. As strong as my power was, it left telltale signs, and I wasn’t the best at physical combat. Tamar at least knew the Soldat Sol, and I tried to reassure myself that she and Nadia were both experienced fighters.

I also wasn’t sure what I’d do with any soldiers who did show up, but the message had been sent, and I had to believe that we’d figure out something. Maybe by then I’d have the firebird and the beginnings of a plan. I couldn’t think too far ahead. Every time I did, I felt panic tugging at me. It was like being underground again, no air to breathe, waiting for the world to come down around me.

Our team left at sunrise, leaving the others sleeping in the shade of the overhang. Only Misha was awake, watching us with accusatory eyes as he pelted the side of the Bittern with pebbles.

“Come here,” Mal said, waving him over. I thought Misha might not budge, but then he shuffled to us, his chin jutting out in a sulk. “Do you have the pin Alina gave you?”

Misha nodded once.

“You know what that means, don’t you? You’re a soldier. Soldiers don’t get to go where they want to. They go where they’re needed.”

“You just don’t want me with you.”

“No, we need you here to take care of the others, Misha. Do you know who you’re traveling with? You’ll be the most sensible one there once Tamar and Nadia leave. David is hopeless, Sergei is a wreck, and Adrik is going to need help, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. You’ll have to be careful with that one, help him without letting him know you’re helping. Zoya is too short-tempered and Harshaw is. . . Harshaw. Can you manage all that?”

Misha shrugged.

“Alina and I need you to take care of them the way you took care of Baghra.”

“But I didn’t take care of her.”

“Yes you did. You watched over her, and you made her comfortable even though she wasn’t always kind. You were brave, and you let her go when she needed you to. You did what had to be done, even though it hurt you. That’s what soldiers do. That’s why I gave you this pin.”

Misha looked at him sharply, as if considering this. “I should have stopped her,” he said, his voice breaking.

Mal gave him a slight smile. “If you had, none of us would be here. We’re grateful that you did the hard thing. You have more courage than a lot of men twice your age and four times as experienced.”

Misha frowned. “David _is_ kind of a mess.”

“So you see my point. Can we trust you to look after them until we get back? It’s going to be hard, but we know you can do it.”

Misha looked away. His expression was still troubled, but he shrugged again.

“Thank you,” Mal said, giving the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. “You can start by getting water boiling for breakfast.”

Misha nodded once, then jogged back through the gravel to get the water on.

Mal glanced at me as he rose and shouldered his pack. “What?”

“Nothing. That was just. . . really well done.”

“Same way Ana Kuya got me to stop begging her to keep a lantern lit at night.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he said starting the climb. “Told me I had to be brave for you, that if I was scared, you’d be scared.”

“Well, she told me I had to eat my parsnips to set a good example for _you,_ but I still refused to do it.”

“And you wonder why you were always getting the switch.”

“I had principles.”

“That means, ‘If I can be difficult, I will.’”

“Unfair.”

“Hey!” Zoya shouted over the edge of the crater above. “If you’re not up here before I count to ten, I’m going back to sleep and you can carry me to Dva Stolba.”

I let my eyes close. “Mal,” I sighed. “I’m warning you right now, there’s a good chance she’s not going to make it out of the Sikurzoi alive. If I murder her horribly, will you hold me very accountable?”

“Yes,” he said. Then added, “That means, ‘Let’s make it look like an accident.’”

 

* * * * *

 

Dva Stolba took me by surprise. I’d expected the little valley would be like a graveyard, a grim wasteland of phantoms and abandoned places. Instead, the settlements were bustling. The landscape was dotted with burned-out hulks and empty fields of ash, but new homes and businesses had sprung up right beside them.

There were taverns and hostelries, a storefront advertising watch repair, and what looked like a shop that lent books by the week. It was alive, but everything felt oddly impermanent. Broken windows had simply been boarded over. Many of the houses had canvas roofs or holes in the walls that had been covered with wool blankets or woven mats. _Who knows how long we’ll be here?_ they seemed to say. _Let’s make do with what we have._

Had it always been this way? The settlements were constantly being destroyed and rebuilt, governed by the Shu Han or Ravka, depending on how the borders had been drawn at the end of a particular war. Was this how my parents had lived? It was strange to picture them this way, but I didn’t mind the idea. They might have been soldiers or merchants. They might have been happy here. And maybe one of them had been harboring a power, the latent legacy of Morozova’s youngest daughter. Maybe one of them had even been Grisha, hidden like Tolya and Tamar. There were legends of Sun Summoners before me. Most people thought they were hoaxes or empty stories, wishful thinking born of the misery wrought by the Fold. But there might be more to it than that. Or maybe I was clinging to some dream of a heritage I had no real claim to. I couldn’t imagine the Darkling would have left any such rumor unexplored, and if there had been a Sun Summoner in the years since he had come to power, or at least since his creation of the Shadow Fold, he certainly never would have left them to live their own lives.

We passed through a market square crowded with people, their wares displayed on makeshift tables: tin pans, hunting knives, furs for the trek over the mountains. We saw jars of goose fat, dried figs sold in bunches, fine saddles, and flimsy-looking guns. Strings of freshly plucked ducks, their skin pink and dimpled, hung above one stall. Mal kept his bow and repeating rifle bundled in his pack. The weapons were too finely made not to draw attention. For my part, I kept my neck and hair tightly bundled in a scarf.

Children played in the dirt. A squat man in a sleeveless vest was smoking some kind of meat in a big metal drum. I watched him toss a juniper branch inside it, sending up a fragrant, bluish cloud. Zoya scrunched up her nose, but Tolya and Harshaw couldn’t dig out their coins fast enough.

Any one of these people could have been my parents, neighbors, cousins or aunts and uncles, if I’d ever had any. But this was where Mal’s family and mine had met death. Somehow the wild, cheerful atmosphere seemed irreverent. It certainly didn’t match my mood.

I almost laughed in relief when Mal said, “I thought it would be more grim.”

“Did you see how small the graveyard was?” I asked under my breath. He nodded. In most of Ravka, the cemeteries were bigger than the towns, but when the Shu had burned these settlements, there had been no one left to mourn the dead.

Though we’d been well provisioned from the stocks at the Spinning Wheel, Mal wanted to buy a map made by a local. We needed to know which trails might be blocked by landslides or where the bridges had been washed out.

A woman with white braids peeking from beneath her orange wool hat sat on a low, painted stool, humming to herself and beating a cowbell to catch the attention of passersby. She hadn’t bothered with a table, but had laid a rug displaying her stock—canteens, saddlebags, maps, and stacks of metal prayer rings—directly on the ground. A mule stood behind her, its long ears twitching off flies, and occasionally, she would reach back and offer it a pat on the nose.

“Snow’s coming soon,” she said, squinting up at the sky as we poked through the maps. “Need blankets for the journey?”

“We have them,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Lot of people headed over the border.”

“But not you?”

“Too old to go now. Shu, Fjerdans, Fold…” She shrugged. “You sit still, trouble passes you by.”

 _That must be nice,_ I thought wryly.

Mal held up one of the maps. “I’m not seeing the eastern mountains, only the west.”

“Better off keeping west,” she said. “You trying for the coast?”

“Yes,” Mal lied smoothly, “then on to Novyi Zem. But—”

“Stay west. People don’t come back from the east.”

“Ju weh,” said Tolya. “Ey ye bat e’yuan.”

The woman answered back, and they looked over a map together, conversing in Shu while we waited patiently.

Finally, Tolya handed a different map to Mal. “East,” he said.

The woman jabbed her cowbell at Tolya and asked me, “What are you going to feed that one in the hills? Better make sure he doesn’t put you on a spit.”

Tolya frowned, but the woman laughed so hard she nearly fell off her stool. It was contagious, and I felt myself smiling. It was small, but after the last few days, I appreciated even that much.

Mal added some prayer rings to the maps and gave over his coins.

“Had a brother who went to Novyi Zem,” the woman said, still chuckling as she returned Mal’s change. “Probably rich now. It’s a good place to start a new life.”

Zoya snorted. “Compared to what?”

“It’s really not bad,” said Tolya.

“Dirt and more dirt.”

“There are cities,” Tolya grumbled as we walked away.

“What did that woman have to say about the eastern mountains?” I asked.

“They’re sacred,” said Tolya, “and apparently haunted. She claims the Cera Huo is guarded by ghosts.”

A shiver ran up my spine. “What’s the Cera Huo?”

Tolya’s golden eyes glinted. “The Firefalls.”

 

* * * * *

 

I didn’t even notice the ruins until we were almost directly beneath them. They were that nondescript—two worn and weather-beaten spires of rock that flanked the road leading southeast out of the valley. They might have once been an arch. Or an aqueduct. Or two mills, as their name indicated. Or just two pointy bits of rock. What had I expected? Ilya Morozova by the side of the road in a golden halo, smiling beatifically and holding up a sign that read “You were right, Alina. This way to the firebird”?

But the angles seemed correct. I’d scrutinized the illustration of Sankt Ilya in Chains so often that the image was tattooed in my mind. The view of the Sikurzoi beyond the spindles matched up to my memory of the page. Had Morozova drawn it himself? Was he responsible for the map left behind in that illustration or had someone else pieced together his story? Who besides his children would have even been able to begin doing so, and were they meant to be clues, or simply a story, a tribute? I would probably never know.

 _This is the place,_ I told myself, and I felt genuine excitement for what might have been the first time in months. _It has to be._

“Anything familiar?” I asked Mal.

He shook his head. “I guess I hoped…” He shrugged. He didn’t have to say more than that. I’d been carrying the same hope lodged in my heart, that once I was on this road, in this valley, more of my past might suddenly become clear. But all I had was my same worn set of memories: a dish of beets, a broad pair of shoulders, the sway of ox tails ahead of me.

We spotted a few refugees—a woman with a baby at her breast riding in a pony cart while her husband walked alongside, a group of people our age who I assumed were First Army deserters. But the road beneath the ruins was not crowded. The most popular places to try to enter the Shu Han were farther west, where the mountains were less steep and travel to the coast was easier.

The beauty of the Sikurzoi came on suddenly. The only mountains I’d known were the icy peaks of the far north and the Petrazoi—jagged, gray, and forbidding. But these mountains were gentle, rolling, their soft slopes covered in tall grasses, the valleys between them crossed with slow-moving rivers that flashed blue and then gold in the sun. Even the sky felt welcoming, a prairie of infinite blue, thick white clouds stacked heavy on the horizon, the snowcapped peaks of the southern range visible in the distance.

I knew this was no-man’s-land, the dangerous boundary that marked the end of Ravka and the beginning of enemy territory, but it didn’t feel that way. There was ample water, space for grazing. If there hadn’t been a war, if the lines had somehow been drawn differently, this would have been a peaceful place.

We made no fire and camped in the open that night, our bedrolls spread beneath the stars. I listened to the sigh of the wind in the grasses and thought of Nikolai. I had felt him once as we traveled, but not again since. Was he still out there, tracking us as we tracked the firebird? Would he know us? Or had he lost himself completely? Would it get worse as time went by, would a day come when we’d simply be prey to him? I peered into the sky, waiting to see a winged shape blotting out the stars. Sleep did not come easily.

The next day, we left the main road and started to climb in earnest. Mal took us east, toward the Cera Huo, following a trail that seemed to appear and disappear as it wended through the mountains. Storms came on without warning, dense bursts of rain that turned the earth beneath our boots to sucking mud, then vanished as quickly as they’d arrived.

Tolya worried about flash floods, so we left the trail completely and headed for higher ground, spending the rest of the afternoon on the narrow back of a stony ridge where we could see stormclouds chasing each other over the low hills and valleys, their dark swells glinting with brief flashes of lightning.

The days dragged on, and I was acutely conscious that every step we took deeper into the Shu Han was a step we would have to retrace back to Ravka. What would we find when we returned? Would the Darkling have already marched on West Ravka? And if we found the firebird, if the three amplifiers were brought together at last, would I be strong enough to face him? Mostly, I thought of Morozova and wondered if he’d once walked these same paths, gazed on these same mountains. Had his need to finish the task he’d begun driven him the way my desperation drove me now, like an ever-increasing thirst, forcing me to put one foot in front of the other, to take another step, ford another river, climb another hill?

That night, the temperature dropped enough that we had to set up tents. Zoya seemed to think I should be the one to put ours together, even if we were both going to sleep in it. I told her it was an interesting idea. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t really get cold anymore, so I don’t care either way. You’re tough. I’m sure one night in freezing temperatures won’t kill y--” I straightened and my eyes snapped up to peer into the dusk.

Mal was putting the second tent together, but was somehow still the first to notice something was off. “What is it?” He asked, coming up to me.

I hushed him. We were in a wide field of feather grass that stretched between two low hills. “There are people out there,” I whispered.

“But of course you don’t mean other travelers,” Zoya muttered. “Because why would we be that lucky?”

“Six men. Shu. Four bows, two guns. They’re fanning out.”

Zoya swore under her breath, but it sounded more impressed than anything.

Mal picked up his rifle and signaled. Tolya drew his sword, and we formed up, back to back, waiting. “Harshaw,” I whispered. “To your left. Give them a show.”

I heard his flint being struck. He stepped forward and spread his arms. A blazing gout of fire roared to life. It swept around us in a glowing blue and white ring and roiled outward, illuminating the faces of recoiling men crouched low in the field beyond, golden-eyed and dressed in shearling. Their bows were drawn, guns at the ready.

“Zoya,” I said.

She and Harshaw moved as one, throwing their arms out in wide arcs and turning them bright blue, the flames seething across the grass like a living thing, borne by their combined power.

Men shouted. The fire licked out in hungry tongues. I heard a single shot of gunfire, and the thieves turned and ran. Harshaw and Zoya sent the fire after them, chasing them across the wide field.

“They might come back,” said Tolya. “Bring more men. You get good money for Grisha in Koba.” It was a city just south of the border.

For the first time, I thought about what it must have been like for Tolya and Tamar, never able to return to their father’s country, strangers in Ravka, strangers here too, growing up having to know things like where they were in the most danger of being sold like livestock. And that was in a world where a place like the Second Army existed for them to refuse.

Zoya was sober for once. “They aren’t any better in Fjerda. There are witchhunters who don’t eat animals, won’t wear leather shoes or kill a spider in their homes, but they’ll burn Grisha alive on a pyre.”

“Shu doctors might not be so bad,” said Harshaw. He was still playing with the flames, sending them shooting up in loops and snaking tendrils. “At least they clean their instruments. On the Wandering Isle, they think Grisha blood is a cure-all—for impotence, wasting plague, you name it. When my brother’s power showed itself, they cut his throat and hung him upside down to drain like a pig in a slaughterhouse.”

I felt blood drain from my face.

“Saints, Harshaw,” Zoya gasped.

“I burned that village and everyone in it to the ground. Then I got on a boat and never looked back.”

I thought of the dream the Darkling had once had, that we might be Ravkans and not just Grisha. He’d tried to make a safe place for our kind, maybe the only one in the world. I was plagued with the idea, trying to figure out how someone who had such good intentions could have gone so wrong. _I understand the desire to remain free._

Was that why Harshaw kept fighting? Why he’d chosen to stay? He must have shared  
the Darkling’s dream once. Had he given its care over to me? Or had siding against the coup simply seemed the safer option?

“Watch will be extra careful tonight,” Mal said, “and head farther east tomorrow.”

East to the Cera Huo, where phantoms stood guard. But I was already traveling with a ghost of my own. In a way, we all were.

 

* * * * *

 

There was no evidence of the thieves the next morning, nor had there been any sign of them during the night, only a field scorched in bizarre patterns.

Mal took us farther into the mountains. Early in our journey, we’d seen the curling smoke of someone’s cookfire or the shape of a hut on a hillside. Now we were alone, our only company the lizards we saw sunning themselves on rocks and, once, a herd of elk grazing in a distant meadow. I couldn’t help but remember the stag. Its spirit welled up in me as if in answer, and I wrapped my fingers around the collar.

If there were signs of the firebird, they were invisible to me, but I recognized the silence in Mal, the deep intent. He always had it when he was tracking, but it was different now, like it had been in Tsibeya when we were hunting the stag and then again on the waters of the Bone Road.

According to Tolya, the Cera Huo was marked differently on every map, and we certainly had no way of knowing if that was where we’d find the firebird. But it had given Mal a direction and now he moved in that steady, reassuring way of his, as if everything in the wild world was already familiar to him, as if he knew all of its secrets. For the others, it became a kind of game, trying to predict which way he would take us.

“What do you see?” Harshaw asked in frustration when Mal turned us away from an easy trail.

Mal shrugged. “It’s more what I don’t see.” He pointed up to where a flock of geese were tacking south in a sharp wedge. “It’s the way the birds move, the way the animals hide in the underbrush.”

Harshaw scratched Oncat behind the ear and whispered loudly, “And people say I’m crazy.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Harshaw,” I said lightly. “So far, every genius I’ve met has been at least a little crazy.” I saw Mal, stooped over examining some invisible track, smile to himself.

As the days passed, I felt my patience fraying. We had too much time walking with nothing to do but think, and there was no safe place for my thoughts to wander. The past was full of horrors, and the future left me breathless with a sense of rising panic. Too often my attention strayed to the tether and the occasional whisper of feeling I would get from it.

The power inside me had been so miraculous, so simple, but each confrontation with the Darkling drove home the limitations of my abilities. _There is no fight to be had._ Despite the death I’d seen and the desperation I felt, I was no closer to understanding or wielding merzost. No matter how much power I found, he always seemed to know a way around it. I found myself starting to resent Mal’s calm, the surety he seemed to carry in his steps.

“Do you think it’s close?” I asked one afternoon when we’d taken shelter in a dense cluster of pines to wait out a storm.

“Hard to say. Right now, I could just be tracking a big hawk. I’m going on my gut as much as anything, and that always makes me nervous.”

I laughed, quiet and bitter. “You don’t seem nervous. You seem completely at ease.”

Mal glanced at me. “It helps that no one’s threatening to cut you open.”

I said nothing, just tightened my fists in my lap so I wouldn’t reach out to him. The thought of the Darkling’s knife was almost comforting—a simple fear, concrete, manageable. A direct tie to results.

He squinted out at the rain. “And it’s something else, something the Darkling said in the chapel. He thought he needed me to find the firebird. As much as I hate to admit it, that’s why I know I can do it now, because he was so sure.”

I understood. The Darkling’s faith in me had been an intoxicating thing, even when it had been a lie. And that had been before I had known who he was, how ancient and what he could make happen. I wanted that certainty, the knowledge that everything would be dealt with, that someone was in control. Sergei had run to the Darkling looking for that reassurance. _I just want to feel safe again._ It almost made me itch, realizing I could relate to why he’d betrayed us.

“When the time comes,” Mal asked, “can you bring the firebird down?”

I snorted. I was done with hesitation. It wasn’t just that we’d run out of options, or that so much was riding on the firebird’s power. I’d simply grown ruthless enough or selfish enough to take another creature’s life without a thought if I felt I needed to. I almost missed the girl who had shown the stag mercy, who had been strong enough to turn away from the lure of power, who had questioned it, who had believed in something more. She was another casualty of this war, and something I no longer had room for.

“It almost doesn’t seem real to me,” I said. “And even if it is, it still may not be enough. The Darkling has an army. He has allies. He has hundreds of years. We have. . .” A band of misfits? Some tattooed zealots? The odd soldier? Even with the power of the amplifiers, it would be a mismatched battle.

“Thanks,” Zoya said sourly.

“She has a point,” said Harshaw, propped against a tree. He had Oncat perched on his shoulder and was sending little flames dancing through the air. “I’m not really feeling up for much.”

“If I had an army of people like you, that would be one thing,” I said. “But I don’t. I have five. And a half,” I added, thinking of Adrik.

“It’ll be enough,” said Mal. “We’ll find the firebird. You’ll face the Darkling. We’ll fight him, and we’ll win.”

“And then what?” I demanded. I heard the anger and sharpness in my voice, but I know it wasn’t him I was mad at. He had given voice to a fear that had been dogging me day and night, dragged it out into the open. “Do you know what the cost of destroying the Fold might be, _if_ I can even do it? It was the product of merzost, of an incredible amount of power, and the power needed to wipe it out in turn might leave something worse in its place.

“Even if we beat the Darkling and by some miracle I erase the Shadow Fold without repercussions, Ravka will be vulnerable. We have no king to lead us. We have no prince, no Lantsov. No Darkling. Just an idiot girl and the few Grisha who are left standing when it’s over.”

“There’s the Apparat,” said Tolya. “The priest may not be trustworthy, but your followers are.”

“And David thought he might be able to heal Nikolai,” Zoya put in.

I turned on her, my anger rising. “Are you really that stupid? Do you think Fjerda will wait patiently while David experiments on Nikolai? How about the Shu? Oh, maybe they’ll even offer to help!”

“Then you’ll make a new alliance,” said Mal.

“With who?” I snorted.

“Kerch has a powerful fleet. Even Sturmhond was careful in their waters,” Tolya said. “In the right hands, you could do a lot with something like that.”

He was calm, and it made me take a moment to cool my anger. “So I really will be something of a royal, then. A commodity to be bought and sold for the right price. My bed and my powers.”

“You negotiate,” Mal said, and for the first time in days his voice was something other than calm and cool. “Set your own terms.”

“You know better,” I scoff. “Whoever I might try to negotiate with would have me over a barrel, and they’d know it. What’s it to them if they leave Ravka to be claimed by whoever marches in first? I’ll still be around, surely, only then I won’t have anyone left standing behind me. Even if I took a political marriage, it would be nothing more than a game of who kills who in their sleep first.” And that was only the first husband, the first lifetime, this war. But I saw no reason to burden Mal with eternity. Or anyone else, for that matter.

“Alina—”

“And where will you go?” I heard the echo of the same words from him as we stood in a tent in Kribursk so long ago. _And where will I go?_

“I’ll stay by your side as long as you let me.”

It was slight, but a glow settled in to boil against my skin. “Hypocrite,” I spat in a half-whisper.

If it wounded him, he didn’t show it. “I know,” he said seriously. “Hypocrite, liar, fool, coward, weak. I’m all those things, Alina, and more. But I’m yours as long as you’ll have me.”

He said it with such calm, so casually, that the light flared bright and white and blinding in shock for an instant. It left everyone blinking. Oncat hissed and spat and dug her claws into Harshaw’s neck.

It was a long moment before I spoke. “And will you stand guard outside my bedchamber at night when I take a husband?” It was quiet and mournful and challenging.

His jaw set. “I’ll do what I have to do to keep you safe.”

“The captain of my guard. It wouldn’t be the first such arrangement after all, right? Keep your head down,” I said coolly. “Do your duty. Take what you can get and ask for nothing more.”

“Yes.”

“One foot in front of the other? Onward to the firebird? Onward to war, onward back to the hellhole you would have done anything to get out of a few months ago, the one that had you destroying yourself. Just keep marching like a good soldier.”

“That’s right, Alina. I’m a soldier.” I thought he might finally crack and give me the fight I wanted, that I was itching for. Instead, he stood and shook the water from his coat. “And I’ll keep marching because the firebird is all I can give you. No money. No army. No crown, no mountaintop stronghold.” He shouldered his pack. “This is all I have to offer. The same old trick.” He stepped out into the rain. I wanted to knock him on his face in the mud. But only because I wouldn’t admit to myself what it was I really wanted to do.

Zoya lifted one elegant shoulder. “I’d rather have the emerald.”

“In the next life, by all means, you be the fucking Sun Summoner, Zoya.”

She combed fingers through her dark hair and didn’t even look at me. “Maybe you’re hungry. I always get mean when I’m hungry.”

I stared at her, then shook my head and released something between a laugh and a sigh. My anger went out of me, leaving me feeling petty and embarrassed. Mal hadn’t deserved that. None of them had.

“Well,” I said, “Saints help any of us if we ever see you hungry, given how pleasant and rosy you are when you’re well-fed. Feel free to take my portion any time you’re feeling peckish.”

“Are you hungry all the time?” Harshaw asked her.

“You haven’t seen me mean. When you do, you’ll require a very big hanky.”

He snorted. “To dry my tears?”

“To stanch the bleeding.”

This time my laugh was real, if small. Somehow a little of Zoya’s poison was exactly what I needed.

“This reminds me,” she said, looking at me. “We need to talk about Oretsev.”

“Are you going to advocate for him? Tell me I owe him an apology? You’d probably be right, but it doesn’t really seem like your style. Either way I’m sure he’ll be delighted,” I finished drily.

“I meant Kribursk,” she said. “We need to talk about Oretsev in Kribursk.”

The remnants of mirth dropped from my face like a boulder from a mountaintop. “We really don’t.” I turned away.

Tolya looked between us stealthily. Harshaw did so openly. The only sound was the rain pounding around us. My attention was split between this, following Mal with the light, and a large, winged figure hunched in a tree a small distance away.

“It happened,” she said bluntly.

I took a careful breath against the jealousy and resentment and bitterness that rang through me, and against the blowup of light that rushed inward. I could even feel it under my skin. I closed my eyes and tried to count. It was an old trick I’d used in the army. It had never worked, but it was all I had. I had always known, if I was honest. And I knew there had been plenty of others before her, but it still hurt.

Zoya glanced at me, her long black lashes sparkling with rain. “But never since,” she said grudgingly, “and it hasn’t been for lack of trying. If a man can say no to me, that’s something.”

The light around me didn’t dissipate, but it did slowly soften.

“Do you ever wonder what’s going to happen if you get angry when we’re trying to hide from someone?” Harshaw asked. I couldn’t tell if it was on purpose to break the tension, or if it was just Harshaw being Harshaw. I could never tell, no matter how much time I spent with him.

I rolled my eyes. Zoya poked me in the arm with one long, graceful finger. I thought it was an awfully brave thing to do, and had to respect her for it a little, if reluctantly. “He hasn’t been with _anyone,_ you idiot. Do you know what the girls back at the White Cathedral called him? Beznako.”

 _A lost cause._ Something contracted painfully in my chest.

“It’s funny,” Zoya said contemplatively. “I understand why the Darkling and Nikolai want your power. But Mal looks at you like you’re. . . well, like you’re me.”

“Narcissistic and arrogant?” I said with a smile of syrup and acid. She threw a twig at me, and it was a fight not to laugh. It was disgusting and I loathed it to my core, but during our time together the last several days, Zoya had started to work her way under my skin.

“No he doesn’t,” said Tolya. “He watches her the way Harshaw watches fire. Like he’ll never have enough of her. Like he’s trying to capture what he can before she’s gone.”

Zoya gaped at him, then scowled. I just closed my eyes against the searing hurt. “You know, if you turned a bit of that poetry on me, I might consider giving you a chance.”

“Who says I want one?”

“I want one!” called Harshaw.

Zoya blew a damp curl from her forehead. “Oncat has a better chance than you.”

Harshaw held the little tabby above him. “Why, Oncat,” he said. “You rogue.”

 

* * * * *

 

As we closed in on the area where the Cera Huo was rumored to be, our pace quickened. Mal grew even quieter, his blue eyes moving constantly over the hills. I owed him an apology, but I never seemed to find the right moment to speak to him.

Almost exactly a week into the journey, we came across what we thought was a dry creek bed that ran between two steep rock walls. We’d been following it nearly ten minutes when Mal knelt and ran his hand through the grass.

“Harshaw,” he said, “can you burn some of this scrub away?”

Harshaw struck his flint and sent a low blanket of blue flame rolling over the creek bed, revealing a pattern of stones too regular to be anything but manmade. “It’s a road,” he said in surprise.

“Here?” I asked. We’d passed nothing but empty mountains for miles.

We stayed alert, searching for signs of what might have come before, hoping to see etched symbols, maybe the little altars we’d seen carved into the rock closer to Dva Stolba, eager for some kind of evidence that we were on the right path. But the only lesson in the stones seemed to be that cities rose and fell and were forgotten. It was a heavy feeling, and it set the line between the Darkling and I tingling. _You live in a single moment. I live in a thousand._ I might live long enough to see Os Alta sacked or abandoned, long enough for time to turn it to dust. Or maybe I’d turn my power back on myself and end it all before then. What would life be like once the people I loved were gone? For a day, fur a thousand days? When there were no mysteries left? No missions, no goals, no jobs, nothing left to learn?

We followed the road to where it just seemed to end, buried in a slump of fallen rock covered in grass and yellow wildflowers. We climbed over it, and when we reached the top, a sliver of ice crept into my bones.

It was as if the color had been leached out of the landscape. The field before us was gray grass. A black ridge stretched along the horizon, covered in trees, their bark smooth and glossy as polished slate, their angular branches free of leaves. But the eerie thing was the way they grew, in perfect, regular lines, equidistant, as if they had each been planted with infinite care.

“That looks wrong,” said Harshaw.

“They’re soldier trees,” said Mal. “It’s just the way they grow, like they’re keeping ranks.”

“That’s not the only reason,” said Tolya. “This is the ashwood. The gateway to the Cera Huo.”

Mal took out his map. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s a story. There was a massacre here.”

“What kind?” I asked.

“A Shu battalion was brought here by their enemies. They were prisoners of war.”

“Which enemies?” asked Harshaw.

Tolya shrugged. “Ravkan, Fjerdan, maybe other Shu. This was old days. They starved, and when the hunger became too great, they turned on each other. It’s said the last man standing planted a tree for each of his fallen brethren. And now they wait for travelers to pass too close to their branches, so they can claim a final meal.”

“Lovely,” grumbled Zoya. “Remind me to never ask you for a bedtime story.”

“It’s just a legend,” Mal said. “I’ve seen those trees near Balakirev.”

“Growing like that?” Harshaw asked.

“Not. . . exactly.”

I eyed the shadows in the grove. The trees did look like a regiment marching toward us. I’d heard similar stories about the woods near Duva, that in the long winters, the trees would snatch up girls to eat. I knew it was superstition. But I also knew I didn’t want to take another step toward that hillside.

“Look!” breathed Harshaw.

I followed his gaze. There, amid the deep shadows of the trees, something white was moving, a fluttering shape that rose and fell, slipping between the branches. It was tall and slender. Like a person.

“I can’t tell what it is,” I said, unsettled. “It’s just. . . it’s like. . . snow. Or ash? But there’s nothing holding it up. There’s another one,” I gasped, pointing to where a whorl of white shimmered, then disappeared into nothing.

“It can’t be,” said Mal.

Another shape appeared between the trees, then another.

“I do not like this,” said Harshaw. “I do not like this at all.”

“Stay calm,” I said.

“Oh, for Saints’ sake,” sneered Zoya. “You really are peasants.”

She lifted her hands, and a massive gust of wind tore up the mountain. The white shapes seemed to retreat. Then Zoya hooked her arms, and they rushed at us in a moaning white cloud.

“Zoya—”

“Relax,” she said.

I lifted my hands to fight off whatever horrible thing Zoya was bringing down on us. The cloud exploded into harmless flakes that drifted to the ground around us. I reached out to catch some of it on my fingers. It was fine and white, the color of chalk. “But there’s no wind,” I said, confused.

“It wouldn’t work if there were. It’s just some kind of weather phenomenon,” Zoya said, sending the ashes rising again in lazy spirals. “Breeze moves through the trees and gets caught up between their trunks. The ash is so light that it gets sucked up off the ground.” We looked back up the hill. The white clouds continued to move in shifts and gusts, but now that we knew what they were, they seemed less sinister, if just as ominous.

“You didn’t really think they were ghosts, did you?” Zoya asked.

I blushed despite myself, and Tolya cleared his throat. Zoya rolled her eyes and strode toward the hill. “I am surrounded by fools.”

“They looked spooky,” Mal said to me with a shrug.

“They still do,” I muttered.

 _Grisha are no less superstitious than otkazat’sya,_ I remembered the Darkling saying. _What do you imagine they made of powers like mine, Alina?_ Was that all this was, superstitious fear? In a world where immortals unseated kings, ancient stags bestowed untold power, and animals of legend proved to be real?

All the way up the rise, weird little blasts of wind struck us, hot and then cold. No matter what Zoya said, no matter how I tried to dismiss it, the grove was an eerie place. I steered clear of the trees’ grasping branches and tried to ignore the gooseflesh puckering my arms. Every time a white whorl rose up near us, I jerked and Oncat hissed from Harshaw’s shoulder.

When we finally crested the hill, we saw that the trees marched all the way into the valley, though here their branches were lush with purple leaves, their ranks spreading over the landscape below like the folds of a Fabrikator’s robe. It was staggeringly beautiful, but it wasn’t what stopped us in our tracks.

Ahead of us stood a towering cliff. It looked less a part of the mountains than like the wall of a giant’s stronghold. It was dark and massive, almost perfectly flat at the top, the rock the heavy gray of iron. A tangle of dead trees had been blown against its base. The cliff was split down the middle by a roaring waterfall that fed a deep pool so clear we could see the rocks at the bottom. The lake stretched almost the length of the valley, surrounded by blooming soldier trees, then seemed to disappear belowground.

We made our way down to the valley floor, stepping around and over little pools and rivulets, the thunder of the falls filling our ears. When we reached the largest pool, we stopped to fill our canteens and rinse our faces in the water.

“Is this it?” Zoya shouted over the noise. “The Cera Huo?”

Setting Oncat aside, Harshaw dunked his head in the water. “Must be,” he replied. “What’s next?”

“Up, I think,” called Mal, running fingers over his scalp and scattering water from his hair.

Tolya eyed the slick expanse of the cliff wall. The rock was wet with mist from the falls. “We’ll have to go around. There’s no way of scaling the face.”

“I could dry it out,” I offered.

He shook his big head. “Not without gear. There are no handholds, nowhere to rest if we need it.”

“We’ll go around in the morning,” Mal replied. “Too dangerous to climb in this terrain at night.”

Harshaw tilted his head to one side, voice quieting as we moved further from the noise of the falls. “We might want to camp a little farther off.”

“Why?” asked Zoya. “I’m tired.”

“Oncat objects to the landscaping.”

“That tabby can sleep at the bottom of the pool for all I care,” she snapped.

“. . . I’m inclined to listen to the cat,” I said uneasily. Even I knew I sounded mad.

Harshaw smiled at me, gave Oncat a scratch, and pointed toward the tangle of dead trees crowded around the bottom of the cliff. They weren’t trees at all. They were piles of bones.

“Saints,” Zoya said, backing away. “Are those animal or human?”

Harshaw hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “I saw a very welcoming bunch of boulders back that way.”

“Let’s go there,” said Zoya. “Now.”

They hurried from the falls and I fell behind. I couldn’t stop staring at the massive graveyard. It didn’t last long, though, and I was quick to catch up. We picked our way through the soldier trees and up the valley walls.

“I wish David was here,” I said. “Do you think the ash is volcanic?” I asked, keeping the hopefulness from my voice. My imagination was getting the best of me, and I didn’t want to think about what else the ask that was clinging to my hair might be.

“Could be,” said Harshaw. “There might be volcanic activity near here. Maybe that’s why they’re called the Firefalls.”

“No,” said Tolya. _“That’s_ why.”

I looked back over my shoulder to the valley below and my mouth fell open. In the light of the setting sun, the falls had gone molten gold. It must have been the angle or the way the mist caught the light, but it was as if the very water had caught fire. The sun sank lower, setting every pool alight, turning the valley into a crucible.

“Incredible,” Harshaw groaned. Mal and I exchanged a glance. I was grinning, wondering if he’d try to throw himself in.

Zoya dumped her pack on the ground and slumped down onto it. “You can keep your damn scenery. All I want is a warm bed and a glass of wine.”

Tolya frowned. “This is a holy place.”

“Great,” she retorted sourly. “See if you can pray me up a dry pair of socks and a feather pillow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this got almost no editing. I'll probably give it a read-through soon and alter what needs fixin', but I was impatient to get it up.
> 
> EDIT: Some day. I'll give it a read-through some day.
> 
> \- - - - -
> 
> 9/2/17: Harshaw's fire updated to burn hotter, which I wanted to in the first place because yay, it turns out he whips out blue flame in cannon. I assumed not every Inferni could burn that hot, but if they could, they'd probably be close to the DL. I guess he wasn't old enough to be in his inner circle, idk. Also added the rest of the canon chapter, because it turns out I miscalculated something and having it here was fine. It is even less edited than the rest.


	16. Be Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go back to the last chapter and do a search for "As we closed"; I added a scene/restored the canon chapter structure.

At dawn the next morning, while the others damped the fire and gnawed at pieces of hardtack, I walked back a little ways to look at the falls. The mist was dense in the valley. From here, the bones at the base of the falls just looked like trees. No remains. No ghosts. No fire. It felt like a quiet place, somewhere to rest.

We were packing up the ash-covered tents when we heard it—a cry, high and piercing, echoing through the dawn. We halted, silent, waiting to see if it would sound again.

“Could just be a hawk,” warned Tolya.

“I’ve never heard a hawk that sounded like that,” I said, my eyes scanning the distance.

Mal said nothing. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and plunged into the woods. We had to scrabble to keep pace with him.

The climb up the back of the falls took us the better part of the day. It was steep and brutal, and though my feet had toughened and my legs were used to hard travel, I still felt the strain of it. My muscles ached beneath my pack, and despite the chill in the air, sweat beaded on my  
forehead.

“When we catch this thing,” panted Zoya, “I’m going to turn it into a stew.”

I could feel the excitement rippling through all of us, the sense that we were close now, and we drove each other to push harder up the mountain. Everyone had sacrificed to get here, everyone was pushing toward an end to the war and the defeat of the Darkling, but I hungered for the firebird, needed it. And it wasn’t just excitement I felt--it was foreboding, and it was as if the air grew thicker and harder to move through with every step I took.

In some places during the climb, the rise was nearly vertical. We had to pull ourselves higher by grabbing tight to the roots of scraggly trees or wedging our fingers into the rock. At one point, Tolya brought out iron spikes and hammered them directly into the mountain so we could use them as a makeshift ladder.

The third time Mal’s sweat hit me from above, I remembered a trick I’d used to use on summer days at Keramzin and bent some of the light--the sort we couldn’t see--away from us. With this much sun beating down and the air so thin, the drop in temperature was immediate. Everyone was appreciative, but Zoya only carped about why I hadn’t thought of it sooner. At least she was reliable. And I knew now that though what she said always seemed like some sort of complaint or insult, that wasn’t often what it actually was. I still didn’t like her, but I didn’t think I hated her anymore, either. She was prickly on the outside--that much, at least, I could understand.

Finally, late in the afternoon, we hauled our bodies over a ragged stone lip and found ourselves on the flat top of the cliff wall, a smooth expanse of rock and moss, slick with mist and split by the frothing tide of the river.

Looking north, beyond the abrupt drop of the falls, we could see back the way we’d come—the far ridge of the valley, the gray field that led to the ashwood, the indentation of the old road, and beyond it, storms moving over the grass-covered foothills. And they were just foothills. That was clear now. Because if we turned south, we had our first real view of the mountains, the vast, white-capped Sikurzoi, the source of the snowmelt that fed the Cera Huo.

“They just go on and on,” said Harshaw wearily. Oncat jumped down from his shoulder to sniff at the ground.

“And to think,” I said, “You could be lounging at an inn right now.”

He frowned. “You said you needed fighters. Besides, I’d never say no to the chance to blow something up.”

We made our way to the side of the rapids. It would be tricky fording them, and I wasn’t sure there was a point. We could see across to the other side, where the cliff simply ended. There was nothing there. The plateau was clearly and disappointingly empty.

The wind picked up, whipping through my hair and sending a fine mist stinging against my cheek. I glanced south at the white mountains. Autumn was here and winter was on its way. The trek would only get more difficult. And we’d been gone over a week. What if something had happened to the others back in Dva Stolba?

“Well,” said Zoya angrily, “where is the stupid thing?”

Mal walked to the edge of the falls and looked out at the valley.

“I thought you were supposed to be the best tracker in all of Ravka,” she said. “Just where do we go now?”

I glared a warning at her.

Mal rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Down one mountain, up the next. That’s the way it works, Zoya.”

“For how long?” she said. “We can’t just keep on this way.”

“Zoya,” Tolya cautioned.

“How do we even know this thing exists?”

“What were you expecting? A nest?”

“Why not? A nest, a feather, a steaming pile of dung. Something. Anything.”

Zoya was the one saying it, but I sensed the fatigue and disappointment in the others. Tolya and Mal would keep going until they collapsed, but I wasn’t sure Harshaw and Zoya could take much more.

I sighed, heavy and quiet. I pointed toward the woods behind the plateau where the trees were reassuringly ordinary, their leaves lit with red and gold. “Head that way until you find a dry spot. If there isn’t one, I’ll make it. Get a fire set up, and we’ll settle things after dinner.” I paused, looking again out to the mountains. “I think it might be time we split up.”

“You can’t go farther into the Shu Han without protection,” Tolya objected.

Harshaw said nothing, just nuzzled Oncat and failed to meet my eyes. Part of me didn’t fault him for his exhaustion. Another part, the part that was frantic to continue on even now, resented him for it.  _They’re weak,_  a voice in my mind hissed.

“I doubt we’re going to find many bandits this far in,” I said. “If we do, I can unleash hell. I won’t leave survivors, there’s no one to see it, and no one’s going to be carrying evidence of a Sun Summoner’s powers in the aftermath back to the Darkling from here any time soon.  _If_  they even stumble over it. None of you are any good to me if you’re exhausted and disheartened. Besides, I’m more worried about the others. They’re vulnerable, and all they really have are Tamar and Nadia. Rusland and David have guns, but they couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn between the two of them.”

“It’s a bad idea,” Tolya repeated.

I twined my fingers behind my neck and rubbed it with the heel of both hands, hanging my head. “Just go make camp. We don’t have to decide right now.”

Carefully, I crossed to the edge of the plateau to join Mal. The drop was dizzying, so I looked into the distance instead. If I squinted, I thought I could just make out the burned field where we’d chased off the thieves, but it might have been imagination.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last.

“For?”

“You know what for.”

“Yes, I do, but I was playing dumb because that’s how stupid a thing it is to be sorry for. I’m really not going to fault you for not finding the oldest, most widespread legend in the world fast enough. We only got here yesterday for Saints’ sake. Besides, for all we know, there is no firebird.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“. . .No, I don’t. But you know I have mixed feelings about getting to it. We’ll find it or we won’t.” I couldn’t help the roll of a shoulder against my discomfort at the very idea. “Maybe it’s meant to be mine. Or maybe we’re not meant to find it at all.”

“You don’t believe that either.” He sighed. “So much for the good soldier.”

I winced. “I never should have said that. I took my temper out on you. It was cruel and unfair. ”

“You once put goose droppings in my shoes, Alina. A bad mood I can handle.” He glanced at me and said, “We all know the burden you’re carrying. You don’t have to bear it alone.”

I paused, then shook my head. “You don’t understand,” I said softly. “You can’t.”

“Maybe not. But I saw this with soldiers in my unit. You keep storing up all that anger and grief. Eventually it spills over. Or you drown in it.”

He’d been telling me the same thing when we’d first arrived at the mine, when he’d said the others needed to grieve with me. I’d needed it too, even if I hadn’t wanted to admit it. I’d needed to not be alone. He had been trying to get me there. And he was right. I did feel like I was drowning, fear closing in over me like an icy sea.

“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered, sudden emotion choking my voice. “I’m not like anyone else anymore.” I hesitated then added, “Anyone except him.”

“You’re nothing like the Darkling.”

I almost laughed. “You know better. You’re too smart not to, even if you don’t want to see it. I didn’t either. I still don’t. But I’ve lost the strength to hold up that lie.”

Mal raised a brow. “Do you think you’re like him because he’s powerful and dangerous and eternal?” He gave a rueful laugh. “Tell me something. Would the Darkling ever have forgiven Genya? Or Tolya and Tamar? Or Zoya? Or me?”

“You say ‘powerful and dangerous and eternal’ like those are nothing.”

“They’re not nothing. But they’re not enough, either.”

I hesitated, then finally admitted in a quiet voice, “I know they’re not. But I’m afraid of being alone, Mal, and all of you are still alive. He’s ancient. And it’s already harder for me to trust, to feel like it’s possible to connect with anyone. When I’m six hundred or more, I might have gone cold inside, too.”

“I have news for you, Alina. Trust and connection are tough for everyone.”

“You don’t say,” I replied drily. “It’s not the same. It’s my power. It’s my life, what’s ahead of me. It’s feeling like I’m two different people and I can’t figure out which one is real or which one is a lie or if there aren’t really two at all.” I paused. “Everyone keeps dying around me, for me, and I’m not sure I know why anymore.”

“Everyone is dying because he’s murdering them,” Mal said drily.

“I know, I know. That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?” He asked kindly.

“I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Try. Please. Even if I won’t understand. You have to talk to someone. The more you hold back like this, the more you keep it in, the more you’re going to feel like he really is the only person who can understand. You think he doesn’t want that? You think it’s not just another way to manipulate you?”

I didn’t say anything for a long moment. When I did, my voice was small, a whisper. “That’s the problem, Mal." My words were nearly lost to the rush of water. “I’m not sure how much of it is a lie anymore. I know what he is. But that’s the problem, too. He’s not  _just_  a monster. He’s not  _just_  a liar, a manipulator, cold and cruel. There’s something in him. . . . Sometimes I wonder. . . .” I couldn’t finish the thought. Instead, I asked, “Is it so bad to not want to be alone?”

I expected him to argue. But all I got was quiet, until he took my hand in his. My eyes darted to it. “You’re not alone, Alina. Yes, you’re different. Yes, you’ll probably outlive all of us. So don’t give us up before you have to. Don’t push us away while we’re still here.” He gave my hand a squeeze.

I closed my eyes slowly and felt tears slip down my cheeks.

“I know I don’t get it,” he said gently. “I also know there’s no way to live without pain—no matter how long or short your life is, how young you are or how old. People let you down. You suffer losses. You get hurt and do damage in return. You get betrayed when you trust.

“I know no one is black and white, no one is only good or only evil. You know the Darkling in a way no one else does, I can’t deny that. But what he did to Genya? To his mother? What he tried to do to you with that collar? To me when he threw me off the skiff and forced you to pull your light back? That’s weakness. That’s not a man cold and unfeeling, Alina, that’s a man afraid.”

He peered out at the valley. “I may never be able to understand what it is to live with your power, or knowing that I have eternity before me, but I know you’re better than that, and no matter how long you live, you’ll find ways to remind yourself what it’s like to be human so you don’t forget, too. Because that’s who you are. You care, and that doesn’t change just because other things about you are true, too. You have the same impulses he does. I’ve seen it. But you don’t give into them, no matter how much you want to. You find a way to get what you need without torture and murder. That’s why you’re better than he is, and you’ll be better than he is when we get you the firebird. They all know it, too,” he said with a nod back to where the others had gone to make camp. “That’s why they’re here, fighting beside you. That’s why Zoya and Harshaw will whine all night, but tomorrow they’ll get up and come with us.”

I wanted to argue that I was better because of the people who held those impulses back. Because of him, of the twins, of the other Grisha, of the people who were counting on me. But was that true? Mal kept reminding me who I was, but I’d been the only person in my head when I’d stopped myself from cutting Sergei in half all those months ago. But that had only been because I was horrified by the desire. I’d been the one who stopped myself from killing Zoya the night she had kissed Mal, but only because I was afraid of what I was becoming. I’d let the Apparat live, but I’d told myself it was only because he could take care of the people in the White Cathedral better than anyone else I had on hand. Where was the line between a good person and a monster? Where was that blurred, hazy point you had to cross before you stopped being one and started being the other?

“I’m not sure I want them to,” I said. Then I hesitated, and admitted, “I don’t know if I feel good about this any more.”

“It’s the right thing to do.”

I shook my head. “That’s not what I mean. I know we don’t have a choice, and I want it,  _Saints_  I want it, I just. . . some of the things Baghra said to me about the way the strongest Grisha get addicted to their power. . . I don’t want to fall into the same trap. And it isn’t just that. All day, the further we’ve gone, the more I have this feeling that something’s wrong.”

He straightened, watching me closely. “Wrong how?”

“I don’t know. But. . . do you remember how I said I could feel the other amplifiers while they were still alive? Like I was inside of them, like I  _was_  them? What if this is something like that? What if something is wrong and this is the last place we should be?”

He studied my face before asking seriously, “Do you want to turn around?”

Involuntarily, my hand, the one without a fetter above it, clenched. “I don’t think I can.”

He nodded after a moment. “We’ll eat, we’ll sleep, and then we see what happens next, okay?”

I sighed. “Just keep going, huh?”

He gave my hand another squeeze, this one lingering. “You move forward, and when you falter, you get up. And when you can’t, you let us carry you. You let  _me_  carry you.” He gently pulled his hand away and rose. My skin stung with its loss. “Don’t stay out here too long,” he said, then turned and strode back over the plateau.

_I won’t fail you again._

The night before Mal and I had first entered the Fold, he’d promised that we would survive.  _We’re going to be fine,_  he’d told me.  _We always are._  In the over a year since, we’d been tortured and terrorized, broken and rebuilt. We would probably never feel fine again, not truly, but I’d needed that lie then, and I needed it now. It kept us standing, kept us fighting another day. It was what we’d been doing our whole lives.

The sun was just starting to set. I stood at the edge of the falls, listening to the rush of the water. As the sun dipped, the falls caught fire, and I watched the pools in the valley turn gold. I leaned over the drop, glimpsing the pile of bones below. Whatever Mal had been hunting, it was big. I peered into the mist rising off the rocks at the base of the falls. The way it billowed and shifted, it almost looked like it was alive, as if—

Something came rushing up at me. I stumbled backward and landed on my tailbone with a jarring thud. A piercing cry cut through the silence.

My eyes searched the sky. A huge winged shape soared above me in a widening arc.

“Mal!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. I flexed my hand, readying my power, muscles tensing as the firebird came straight at me.

It was huge, white like the stag and the sea whip, its tail and vast wings tinged with licking golden flames. They beat the air, the gust driving me backward. Its call echoed through the valley as it opened its massive beak. It was big enough to take my arm off in one bite, maybe my head. Its talons gleamed, long and sharp, as if polished.

I couldn’t keep my footing in the gust from its wings. I slipped and felt myself tumbling toward the cliff’s edge—hip, then head, striking damp rock.  _The bones,_  I thought.  _Oh, Saints, the bones at the bottom of the falls._  This was how it killed. “Mal!” I screamed. I clawed at the slick stone, trying to find purchase—and then I was falling.

My cry choked off as my arm was wrenched from its socket. Mal had hold of me just below my elbow. He was on his stomach, hanging over the cliff face, the firebird circling above him in the fading light.

“I’ve got you!” he shouted, but his grip was slipping up the damp skin of my forearm.

My feet dangled over nothing, my heart pounding in my chest.

He leaned out farther. We were both going over.

“Mal--”

“I’ve got you,” he repeated, his blue eyes blazing. His fingertips closed around my wrist. The jolt slammed through us at the same time, the same crackling shock we’d felt that night in the woods near the banya. He flinched, but this time we had no choice but to hold tight. Our eyes met, and power surged between us, bright and inevitable. I had the sense of a door swinging open, and all I wanted was to step through—this taste of perfect, gleaming elation was nothing compared to what lay on the other side. My power, the stag’s power, the Sea Whip’s power were all nothing compared to this. I forgot where I was, forgot everything but the need to cross that threshold, to claim that power.

And with that hunger came horrible understanding.  _No,_  I thought desperately.  _Not this._

But it was too late. I knew. And I saw the same understanding in Mal’s eyes. He knew. Just as I did. He knew.

He gritted his teeth. I felt his grip go even tighter. My strength was gone, sapped out of every muscle. I did nothing to help, willing him to let me fall. My bones rubbed together. The burn of power was almost unendurable, a dull whine that filled my head. My heart beat so hard I thought I might not survive it, that the drop wouldn’t even be necessary. I needed to walk through that door, and everything that I was rebelled.

Then, miraculously, he was pulling me higher, inch by inch. I hung, limp. Mal took hold of both my arms and pulled me onto the safety of the plateau.

As soon as his hand released my wrist, the shuddering rush of power relented and a wracking, dry sob broke from me at the truth of this, and at the sudden void. He dragged himself away from the edge, one hand knotted in my shirt to make sure I followed. So we went, our muscles trembling, panting for breath.

That echoing call sounded again. The firebird hurtled toward us. I didn't move. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. Mal had no time to draw his bow. He threw himself in front of me, arms spread wide as the firebird shrieked and dove, its talons extended directly toward him.

The impact never came. The firebird drew up short, its claws bare inches from Mal’s chest. Its wings beat once, twice, three times, forcing me to dig into the ground with my good arm and driving us back. Time seemed to slow. It was so close I could see us both reflected in its great golden eyes. Its beak was razor sharp, golden, shimmering flames trailed from its tail, and even the white of its feathers seemed to blaze with a light of their own. Somewhere deep in the hollowed middle of me, I felt a dull echo of awe. I felt a kind of recognition, but it was not like the stag, not like the sea whip.

The firebird was power, legend, endurance beyond time or king or people. The firebird was Ravka. It was right that we should be low before it.

It gave another piercing cry, then whirled and flapped its wings, soaring into the gathering dusk.

Mal sank to the ground and I hung my head, both of us breathing hard. A long moment passed. Then Mal said, half to himself, what sounded like a realization: “We’re not hunting it anymore. That’s why it stopped.”

“We need to get out of here,” he said. “It still might come back.”

I said nothing, just slowly sinking back to the ground. I watched the firebird as it trailed away, growing smaller and smaller, its gleam dimming, its flames fading. Distantly, I was aware of the others running toward us over the slippery rock.

“Is she ok?” Tolya called.

“She’s fine,” Mal said. Then he turned to me, voice more gentle than I had ever heard it. “Alina. Come on, get up.” When I didn’t move, I felt his fingers on my arm, letting me know he was there. It jumped and I almost jerked it out of his reach. He took my hand and gave it a gentle tug. I didn’t fight him, but as soon as I was on my feet I took a step away. I just stared at the ground, unseeing, hand clutching my bad arm.

“That's it!” shouted Zoya, pointing at the disappearing shape of the firebird. She lifted her hands to try to bring it back in a downdraft.

“Zoya, stop,” said Mal. “Let it go.”

“Why? What happened? Why didn’t you kill it?”

“It’s not th--”

“Shut up,” I interrupted hollowly. I wondered that I had enough strength to move the muscles in my throat.

“Alina--”

“I said shut up, Mal.” Then, to the others, “It’s the firebird, we found it, no one’s killing it. Now leave.” My voice was rough and low and uneven. It was dead.

“What the hell is going on?” Zoya shouted. “If you weren’t going to kill it, why did we come all this way?” Her fists were clenched, and there were hectic spots of color on her cheeks.

“Never underestimate the power of a nature hike,” I said. “We’ve all bonded. Now we can go back.”

Zoya sputtered. I felt Mal and Tolya watching me, holding themselves back. Harshaw put a hand out and rested fingertips on my arm, and I  _exploded._  “Don’t touch me!” I screamed. Oncat hissed on his back, fur puffed out and eyes slitted. I was lit a bonfire stretching up into the sky, light licking me like flames and heat making my hair billow, so bright and vast and hot that it forced all of them to scrabble backwards to safety. I smelled burned hair, singed fabric. Angry, broken, empty tears were streaming down my face even as the light caused them to evaporate off my skin.

“I said leave,” I repeated, my voice catching.

“Go,” Mal said. They hesitated and Tolya gave him a questioning look, but then they moved off across the plateau, stiff and exhausted, frustrated and bewildered. Harshaw cast one look back as he tried to settle Oncat, who was crouched on his shoulder now, ears pressed flat to her head. The flame-light around me began to deflate.

“You too,” I said to Mal. That time my voice might as well have been gravel.

“It might come back,” he said quietly. “And we need to see to your shoulder.”

“My shoulder can wait five fucking minutes,” I snarled. The glow around me was now no bigger than it had ever been at its worst. It pricked in anger, it simmered, but there was something to it I had never seen before: a sorrow so deep that I couldn’t see the bottom. “Please. Please, Mal, just. . . we can talk later.”

He wanted to come to me. I could see it in the lines of his body, the way he leaned forward just a little on his feet. I knew it just like I knew he was afraid. But not of me, not this time. He was afraid, and I was yelling at him, shoving him away, and still he wanted to help.

“I just want a minute to myself," I said. "I won’t be long.”

“. . .Five minutes. Take all the time you want closer to camp, but not out here. I don’t know if it will hold back a second time.”

Heat surged up in me and I whirled on him. “How are you so calm?” I demanded.

He took a moment to answer, and when he did, there was a hollow weariness in his voice. “I’m calm because I can’t change it. Because I swore I would help you any way I could. I vowed to give you my life, Alina. If that means dying--” The light around me flared. “--literally giving you that life, I’ll do it. If this is how I can spend it, knowing it will let you be what you were always meant to be, who you really are, that’s more than I deserve. And it's far more than most people will ever get. And this way. . . .” He trailed off and glanced at my wrist. His throat bobbed, and I saw him take a bracing breath. “I’m calm because right now, that’s how I can help you.”

He held my eyes, then turned and followed the path the others had taken. I sank to my knees, bile in my mouth. When had this all gone so horribly wrong? How could he just give up like that? How could we have come so far, sacrificed so much, lost so many, for  _this_  to be the answer? It was as if I could feel Baghra and Nikolai behind me, both staring at me, judging and waiting to see what I would do.

I fell hard onto my knees. A moment later, my backside landed on the slippery rock, my good hand fisted too tightly in the hair against my scalp. My shoulder throbbed horribly, but the pain wasn’t enough to stop the images pouring through my head, the connections my mind wouldn’t stop making.

A little girl in a field, standing as her sister had fallen, the black wisps of the Cut rising from her body. Had she been the first Grisha to wield it?

A father kneeling beside her. He was a great Healer, but Baghra had gotten it wrong. It had taken more than the Small Science to save Morozova’s other daughter. It had taken merzost, resurrection. I’d been wrong too. Baghra’s sister hadn’t been Grisha. She’d been otkazat’sya.

In the Spinning Wheel, when Mal had come to take me to Genya and the old King, Baghra had started to say something.  _Who is that? He sounds f--_  What had she been about to say? Familiar? 

Perhaps the little girl and her father had settled in Dva Stolba. Perhaps one of her descendants. But the power he had woven to bring her back had stayed in her, had passed down her line for hundreds upon hundreds of years until it fell to a little boy, who was drawn to a little girl who was meant to--

I made a sound, half growl, half sob, shoving the very thought away. I felt sorrow sweeping in, threatening to destroy the safe emptiness, and I grasped for anything to make it stop. I latched onto the first thing I found, the strongest thing, the only thing left, and slipped out of my body along the tether.

 

* * * * *

 

The Darkling was in a carriage. Not his, from what little I could see of it. The moment he saw me, he said to someone, “We’ll finish this later.”

I heard a garbled sound that I assumed was the door opening and closing, and when he looked up at me, there was no surprise on his face. In fact, something that looked almost like a tiny smirk pulled at his lips. “I expected you much sooner, Alina.” The hint of smirk was in his voice, too, and I felt a shudder of ice along my bones, numb and muted and buried, but there.

He wasn’t talking about me simply visiting. No, he had done something, something that he expected would get a response from me. I didn’t even have it in me to look surprised or confused. I realized I didn’t care. Not now. I just sank down to the seat across from him, face flat and lifeless.

Something I couldn’t track passed over his face, and instantly the impassive shutter was back. Gone was the challenge, the taunting little smile. But because I knew him as well as I did, I could see how carefully he was scrutinizing my face. “Why are you here?” His voice was just as cool and hidden as his expression.

Slowly, my hands curled into loose fists as we stared at one another. I watched him being jounced gently by the movement of the carriage. His face, pale and angular and perfect, was so familiar. It was carved from the heart of a mountain, steady and eternal and unchanging. He could make mistakes. He was afraid, like Mal had said, but I didn’t think he realized it. He was human, or he had started out that way, and I wondered if that was something a person could ever banish completely. He was steady, constant, and something in my chest yanked--

Before I realized I was moving, I was off the seat and onto his, straddling his thighs and sitting on his legs. My forehead was on his shoulder and my arms half wrapped around his waist, hands fisted in his kefta. Suddenly, I heard the sounds of men and horses outside. I felt the movement of the coach, cool air. I felt his shock, and how quickly he pushed it down.

He didn’t move. He didn’t touch me, he didn’t speak. I got the sense that he was waiting to see what this was, where it was going, if it was a trick. Because for even a moment, he had no idea.

I had surprised him.

“I’m so tired,” I said into his shoulder. “So tired,” I repeated in a whisper. “I want to be done.”

Slowly, he guided my head up and framed my face with his hands, making me look at him. “Then come back,” he enunciated. His thumbs stroked over my cheekbones and I the muscles of my face trembled. “Be done.”

It was hard to breathe for a second. I looked into his steady quartz eyes as they moved between mine. It was so tempting. After everything, could it ever be that easy? What would it even be like, what could it be like?  _Be done. Come back._

_Be done._

My brows pinched together and I half turned away from him, into the palm of one of his hands, closing my eyes. “I don’t trust you.” For the first time, it hurt to say the words.

I felt a swell of anger in him, of resentment and bitterness, but it was overshadowed by something else, something bigger.

“. . . What if you could?” He asked, his voice perfectly calm and smooth. “Would you come back? Is that your price, Alina?”

My eyes rose to his. I saw no lie there. No game, and I didn’t know how to feel about that. He wanted me, yes. But how far was he willing to go now? What would he do if he knew I would come back voluntarily? Choose him?

_You felt it from the moment we met. You challenged me. Questioned me. You argued and fought with me. You knew your place even when you believed you were nothing and no one. Small._

_I don’t need to lie to you, not anymore. You’ve been mine from the moment you were born._

_He’s had plenty of time to master lying to a lonely, naive girl._

But was I still that girl? He didn’t need my power anymore, not really, but he was still here, asking me again to come back. "All" I had left to offer him was the promise of eternity not spent alone, and the fulfillment of a dream he’d kept to himself for hundreds of years. I searched for something I was missing, some angle I couldn’t see. I grabbed hold of the thing that bound us, I felt along it, I brushed the place it was tethered to him, but I found. . . nothing. Just hunger, and need. Want, and that reachless chasm.

“Trust doesn’t come back from the dead just because you ask.”

“Like you and I did?” He said quietly. “I can be very inventive.” We gazed at one another, every breath heavy between us. “I lied to you. You betrayed me. Would you come back?” He repeated.

I started to speak and stopped, over and over. I clenched my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut. This was idiocy. Baghra had been right in every insult she had ever flung at me. I was--

I felt his lips on mine and my eyes flew open. But the kiss was softer than anything I had ever felt. Coming from him, that destroyed the dam that was holding back everything I couldn’t face. His lips on mine were warm and distracting and I  _needed_  that.

I melted into it without hesitation. Our lips, and quickly tongues, moved against one another slowly, perfectly. His hands stayed on my face for a time, thumbs gently stroking between kisses, then slid down to the sides of my neck. He was so gentle, so soft, and it felt like something in me was dying, being brought back, then dying again, over and over. Through it all was the steady presence of him, inside of me and under my fingertips. I never would have guessed he could be like this, not on his own. I would question it, think it was some ploy, another lie, but I could  _feel_  that it wasn’t.

I had seen his lust. I had felt it. He wanted, yes. He was impatient and greedy and arrogant, but there was a starvation there, a longing that nearly had me tearing at him. Right then, he was there, with me, and he was showing me something I had never seen, had never thought to see since I had learned the truth. It was more heady than the feel of him under me, of his hands on my skin and his tongue in my mouth. It was more heady than anything I had felt in all my life, and for a moment, for a blessed moment, I could  _forget._

The kiss deepened. It lit with ferocity, like someone had dropped a match into a pool of alcohol, and I arched my back against him, rising up on my knees and bending my head down to keep the contact unbroken. His hands slid down my back and gripped hard at my sides, and as he pulled me tighter to him, something in me panicked even as it burned and reached out to him, screaming for more. I shoved back and stood up, stumbling away. My eyes were wide, there was an excruciating weight in my chest, and I could feel the confusion on my face. I hadn’t come here for this. But I could hardly remember what I had come here for, how I had justified it. What was I doing? “I. . . .”

No. I knew what I was doing. And I knew why. And I absolutely couldn’t. I wouldn’t. 

Long silence curled between us until he moved to stand. I took a hasty step back, panicked, and clove through the connection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was a mean cliffhanger, but if I didn't cut it there, the chapter would be a bajillion words long and the next one would be super short. I figured best done this way in the long run. The next chapter is 95% written (it's why so long between updates), it just needs a lot of editing.
> 
> Speaking of, I'll just say this once to get it out of my system so you guys don't have to keep reading "this chapter is under-edited." I post things before I feel like they're ready. Always. There are probably mistakes. There are certainly sloppy or lazy things here and there. I probably do it because getting them out into the world is a big part of what keeps my motivation alive.


	17. It's Not Going To Be Okay

When I made it to the camp, I slumped to the ground near the crackling fire. I hardly felt like I was there, nothing but pain, as if I would blow away on the wind. I stared at the flames, seeing nothing. I heard Mal and Tolya talking quietly, then Mal said, “I’m going to catch dinner,” and melted into the woods.

Tolya came over to me and crouched down. He held out a flask, and when I finally pulled my eyes to it, then to his face, he nodded at my shoulder. I just shook my head and took my good hand fall away from my arm. He gripped it and waited, I assumed for a nod from me. I didn’t give it, and so after a long moment, he just slammed my shoulder back into its socket. The pain was brilliant, sharp and searing. I saw stars, and for just a moment, that was all there was in the world. But it quickly faded to a tingling, angry ache.

“Tolya,” I croaked. When he looked over, I held my hand out for the flask. I took five good swallows before I returned it, then fell back to the cold earth.

Zoya sat on the other side of the fire. Her gaze was accusatory, but she kept her thoughts to herself. I assumed I had Mal or Tolya to thank for that. Harshaw sat to my left and a little back from the circle of warmth, a ball of white fire in his hand making shapes and arcing through the air. Oncat watched it, the tip of her tail twitching.

Had I known about this, what Mal was? Could I have? I hadn’t see it in that jolt the night by the banya, I’d had no reason to. I had assumed it was something in me.

And yet when I looked back, the pattern seemed clear. My power had always been connected to Mal. Every breakthrough as a child, every major step forward had always been related to him somehow. His encouragement, his ideas, his presence, his dares and challenges. We’d searched for the stag for weeks, but we’d only found it after our first kiss. When I’d been standing in the circle of his arms on the Darkling’s ship, close to him for the first time since we’d been forced aboard, the sea whip had revealed itself. The amplifiers wanted to be brought together.  _This was meant to be. The stag was meant for you, Alina._

Our lives had been bound from the first. By war. By loss. It couldn’t be chance that we’d been born into neighboring tiny villages, that we’d survived the war that had taken both of our families, that we’d both ended up at Keramzin. That we’d been drawn to one another. Bound together, always connected, even when parts of us had wished we weren’t.

Was this the truth behind Mal’s gift for tracking, that he was somehow tied to everything, to the making at the heart of the world? Not a Grisha, and no ordinary amplifier, but something else entirely, something new?

_I am become a blade. A weapon to be used._

I felt sick. I wanted to blot out this knowledge, carve it from my skull. Because I still hungered for the power that lay beyond that golden door, desired it with a kind of pure and aching fever that made me want to tear at my skin. But now I knew the price was one I would never pay.

What had Baghra said?  _You may not be able to survive the sacrifice that merzost requires._

Mal returned a little while later. I couldn’t look at him. He’d brought back two fat rabbits. I heard the sounds of him and Tolya working as they cleaned and spitted the animals, and soon I smelled cooking meat. I had no appetite.

We sat there, listening to the branches pop and hiss in the heat of the flame, until finally Harshaw spoke. “If someone doesn’t talk soon, I’m going to set fire to the woods.”

“I’m sure it’ll appreciate the redecoration,” I said lifelessly.

“We’ll rest tonight and head back in the morning,” Mal said. “The sooner we get back to the others, the better.”

Zoya growled and shot to her feet. “Are we seriously not going to talk about this? What the hell happened?”

Mal glanced at me. I didn’t know what to say, so I just told her, “Things changed. The what and the why aren’t going to stop us from leaving tomorrow morning and never coming back here, so I suggest you let it go.”

Angry splotches of red broke out on her cheeks. “Let it go?” She demanded.

“I’d like to know, too,” Harshaw said calmly. He had Tolya’s flask.

“It-- There-- ” I gave an exasperated sigh. Unfortunately, all the others did was wait quietly for me to collect my thoughts. Finally, I said, “There’s a price for taking that kind of power, and a cost to have it. I didn’t know. . . I  _couldn’t_  know,” my voice quavered, but I covered it with hard anger, “exactly what that meant until I came face to face with it. It isn’t worth paying.”

“Isn’t--" Zoya began incredulously.

“No, it isn't," I snapped, "not even for this. I’d kill myself before I took it, and no Sun Summoner is worse than a Sun Summoner with  _only_  two amplifiers.” I stared her down, daring her to keep arguing.

After a moment, she just shook her head and plunked herself back on the ground.

When the rabbits were cooked, Tolya and Oncat were the only ones who managed to eat. Mal had watched me through the flames without a word the entire time. When the sun dipped low enough that a chill started to creep into the air, he rose and walked to me.

He said nothing now, just held out his hand. I hesitated, afraid to touch him, then placed my palm in his and let him pull me to my feet. I was well into the effects of the drink I’d had, and the world tilted as I rose. Silently, he led me away from the camp.

“You know something,” he said calmly. It wasn’t an accusation, wasn’t a question. He could read me better than anyone. “How is this possible?”

I sighed. “Human amplifiers aren’t unheard of. But there’s never been one who wasn’t Grisha.”

I told him Baghra’s story. The words came more easily than I expected. I told him the horrible tale of a man obsessed, another man owned by power, of the daughter he neglected, of the other daughter who had nearly died because of it.

“No,” I corrected myself. “She did die. And Morozova brought her back.”

“How. . . .”

“It wasn’t healing. It was resurrection, the same process he used to create the amplifiers. It’s all in his journals. The means of keeping oxygen in the blood, the method for preventing decay. The power of the Healer and the Fabrikator pushed to their limits and well beyond, taken to a place they were never meant to go. Merzost. Forbidden. Power over life and death.” I paused. “He had the power. He wanted to use it.” Just like the Darkling. Just like me.

“That was why the journals were incomplete," I went on. "In the end, there hadn’t been a reason for Morozova to hunt for the firebird to make into the third amplifier. He'd spent that power to save her, gave her what was meant for the firebird, and the cycle was completed. The circle was closed. I don’t think he could have undone it even if he wanted to. And he probably did.”

Mal was silent.

“Merzost. . . it never goes quite the way you mean for it to. When the Darkling tampered with it, he created the Fold, a place where his power is meaningless. The nichevo’ya that were meant to be his arms, to give him the life he had always wanted, cost him that life and pieces of his soul. Morozova created three amplifiers, but they could never be brought together without--”

“Without that stolen life being returned,” he finished.

“. . .Yes.”

Morozova had chosen them deliberately. They were sacred creatures—rare, fierce, powerful and enduring. His child was just an ordinary otkazat’sya girl. Was that why the Darkling and Baghra had discounted her so readily? They’d assumed she’d died that day, but the resurrection must have made her stronger—her fragile, mortal life, a life bound by the rules of this world, had been replaced by something else. But in the moment when Morozova gave his daughter a second life, a life that didn’t rightly belong to her, I doubted he would have cared if it was abomination that made it possible.

Mal and I stood close, looking at one another. Then suddenly his face contorted.

“What?” I asked, alarmed, consciously going into the light all around us. I didn’t feel anything but trees and the odd animal.

“No, nothing, it’s fine,” he said, scathing, with a wave of his hand. “It’s just. . .” He looked like he had tasted something sour. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “Saints, this means I’m related to him.”

I felt my eyes widen. That was a connection I hadn’t made, but he was right. This made the Darkling Mal’s very, very distant cousin.

“. . .Wow,” I breathed.

“Yeah. Wow,” he said, disgusted. “So,” he said, clearly trying to forget what he had just realized, “she survived the plunge into the river.”

I nodded. “And Morozova brought her south to the settlements.” To live and die in the shadow of the arch that would someday give Dva Stolba its name. “Or one of her descendants moved there. For all I know, Morozova is still out there somewhere.”

Mal’s fist clenched at his side, but he gave no other reaction.

“She must have passed her power on to her line. Built into their bones.” A bitter laugh escaped me. “I actually thought it was me,” I said. “I thought it made sense. I was so desperate to believe there was some order to this, some reason. That I didn’t just happen. I mean, you and I, the way we ended up with each other, the way we were always so connected, and the way it was with the stag and the sea whip. . . .” But for all I knew, I had only felt connected to them because I had already been connected with Mal. “I thought I was the other branch of Morozova’s line. Light in the family that brought shadow. But it was you, Mal. It was always you.” Talented, gifted, beautiful Mal.

He stepped back until he reached a tree, then leaned heavily against it, his hands going through his shaggy hair. More than once, he looked like he wanted to say something, but the words never came. Instead, he just closed his eyes for a moment, then strode forward, hand out for mine. I didn’t hesitate this time.

Silently, he led me back to camp and up to one of the tents.

Behind me, I heard Zoya grumble, “Oh, Saints, now I have to listen to Tolya snore all night?”

“You can’t hear him through the tent?” Asked Harshaw. “I can. Besides, you snore too. And it isn’t ladylike.”

“I do not. . . !”

Their voices faded as we bent to enter the dim confines of the tent. Firelight filtered through the canvas walls and sent shadows swaying. Without a word, Mal laid down in the furs and held an arm out for me. I hesitated only a moment before joining him. Mal curled around me, his chest pressed to my back, his arms a tight circle, his breath soft against the crook of my neck. It was the way we’d slept with the insects buzzing around us by the shores of Trivka’s Pond, in the belly of a ship bound for Novyi Zem, on a narrow cot in the run-down boardinghouse in Cofton. It was welcome and familiar and it crushed something in me even as it saved something else. I didn’t know if I’d ever hurt so much.

His hand slid down my forearm toward my wrist and I tensed. Gently, he clasped the bare skin there, letting his fingers touch, testing. When they met, that jolting force moved through both of us, pulling up small sounds, even that brief taste of power nearly unbearable in its force.

My throat constricted—with misery, with confusion, and with horrifying, heartbreaking, undeniable longing.

“There’s another way,” I murmured in the quiet.

Mal’s fingers separated, but he kept my wrist in a loose hold as he drew me closer. I felt as I always had in his arms—complete, like I was home. But now I had to question even that. Was it real, or some product of the destiny Morozova had set into motion hundreds of years ago? Did I love Mal because he was Mal, or had I sensed something else in him even as a sickly little girl?

Mal brushed the hair from my neck. He pressed a single brief kiss to the skin above the collar.

“No, Alina,” he said softly. “There isn’t.”

 

* * * * *

 

The return journey to Dva Stolba seemed shorter. We kept to the high country, to the narrow spines of the hills, as distance and days faded beneath our feet. We moved more quickly because the terrain was familiar and Mal wasn’t seeking signs of the firebird, but I also just felt as if time were contracting. I dreaded the reality that awaited us back in the valley, the explanation I would have to try to give, the decisions we would have to try to make.

We traveled in near silence, Harshaw humming occasionally or murmuring to Oncat, the rest of us locked in our own thoughts. After that first night, Mal kept his distance. It left me feeling as if my bones were icing over, but I hadn’t approached him. I didn’t even know what I wanted to say, I just needed to keep him close, as if he was slipping away again, but with more finality. His mood had changed—that calm was still there, but now I had the eerie sense that he was drinking in the world, memorizing it. He would turn his face up to the sun and let his eyes close, or break a stalk of bur marigold and press it to his nose. He hunted for us every night that we had enough cover for a fire. He pointed out larks’ nests and wild geranium, and caught a field mouse for Oncat, who seemed too spoiled to do any hunting of her own.

He had been resigned that night in the tent. But seeing him act this way made it clear there was no question in his mind that he would give up his life for me. That I would take it and wear his bones for the rest of eternity. I wanted to scream at him, to shake him. I wanted to dig my nails into the bark of a tree and cry. But it felt like I needed to be calm for him, too, to let him experience this. I was afraid of the fight between us that I knew was coming. He was ready to sacrifice himself, and I would die before I let him. He would call it selfish and hypocritical, and he’d be right. And I couldn’t have cared less.

Three nights into our return trip we had set up camp not far from a dense copse of trees. Nikolai was shuffling around in them, and as dusk gave way to night, I could feel him edging closer. Eventually, he stopped just inside of the tree line, and when I looked, I thought I saw the firelight glinting off his eyes.

“Alina?” Mal asked when he noticed me staring.

I didn’t take my eyes from where I thought I’d seen him. “Stay here,” I said absently. “I’m. . . going to go for a walk.”

“In the dark?” Zoya asked.

I waved a hand as I stood, just-visible light twinkling around it.

She sighed, beleaguered. “Well have fun. Don’t get eaten.”

“Don’t go far,” Mal amended.

“Sure thing, Ana Kuya,” I muttered to myself.

It wasn’t a long walk to the trees, but as I got closer, Nikolai edged back. I stopped, hesitating, but he didn’t fly away or recede further. He just waited, and I could make out the hazy shape of his wings gently beating at the air. I took a hesitant step forward, then another, and he let me get closer this time before hopping to another tree further in. He was leading me away from the others, and it sent a chill down my spine. But this was Nikolai. . . wasn’t it? He had followed us here, he had stayed close. He’d had the chance to attack, but he hadn’t. I felt no one around but us and the others back at the fire, and had to remind myself that I was much more deadly than him if it came down to it.  I slowly followed him into the trees until I couldn’t make out even a distant flicker of firelight.

Finally, he stopped retreating and just gazed down at me from a high tree branch. He was cleaner than he had been, but he wore the same ragged trousers. His taloned feet gripped the bark of the thick limb, and his shadow wings were tucked back behind him, his gaze black and unreadable. He shifted his weight, sending tiny pieces of bark falling to the ground.

Carefully, I twirled the Lantsov emerald around on my middle finger so it faced up, and slipped it off. I had kept it on all this time, though when not climbing, it had stayed turned in toward my palm. My secret, my decision, my hope and fear.

I held out my hand, ring held in my fingertips. The gentlest of light, no more than the moon cast outside the copse, was cast so he would see the gem. He frowned, a line appearing between his brows, then leapt soundlessly from the limb. I tensed and it was hard not to back away. I didn’t want to be afraid, to be wary, but the way he moved was so inhuman. He stalked toward me slowly, eyes focused on the ring. I didn’t move, didn’t twitch. When he was less than a foot away from my hand, he cocked his head to one side.

Despite the black eyes and the inky lines that coursed up his neck and jaw, he still had an elegant face—his mother’s fine cheekbones, the strong jaw that must have come from his ambassador father. His frown deepened. Then he reached out and plucked the emerald from my fingers, holding it in his claws.

I put my hand back and my side and watched, not even letting myself breathe audibly, afraid I would startle him into running again. Something, somewhere in him, knew what he was looking at, or at least felt a stirring.

Nikolai reached forward and took my other hand, then slid the emerald onto my ring finger.

My breath caught between a laugh and a sob. He did know, he did remember. “It’s good to see you’ve kept your sense of priorities,” I said wetly, tears welling in my eyes. I needed this. After everything that had happened, I needed this. Hope.

He pointed to my hand and made a sweeping gesture. It took me a second to grasp his meaning, and he had to do it a second time first. He was imitating the way I moved when I summoned.

“You want me to call light?”

His face stayed blank. I let gentle sunlight slowly pool in my palm. “This?”

The glow seemed to galvanize him. He seized my hand and slapped it against his chest. My eyes went wide and I tried to jerk away away, but he held my hand in place. His grip was viselike, made stronger by whatever the Darkling had placed inside him.

I remembered what had happened on the terrace at the Spinning Wheel when I had tried to force the darkness out, his scream and the agony on his face. I looked from his hand over mine to his face. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I begged.

Again, he slapped my hand against his chest, the movement almost frantic.

“Nikolai. . . .”

The corner of his mouth curled, the faintest, warped suggestion of Nikolai’s wry smile. I could almost hear him say,  _Really, lovely, what could be worse?_  Beneath my hand, his heart beat—steady and human.

A sob tore from my throat, but I released a long breath. “All right,” I ceded.

I felt inside of him for the smallest pieces of light. They were there, but muted, smothered, almost like they had been in the nichevo’ya. I found them and carefully threaded my power through them, then took them in hand and bade them to brighten. He winced, but his grip on my hand tightened. I pulled on the tiny pieces of light, almost felt them blooming inside of me even as they expanded inside of him, each pulling, each answering, until the shadows slowly started to be drowned out.

The black cracks along his jaw began to shrink and recede. They pulled back, slithering down his neck. I almost couldn’t believe that it was working, that it could be this easy, but I held onto the light within him for everything I was worth. I looked up at his face. He was grimacing in pain, but holding on, steady and determined.

I watched the black veins snake down his chest, inward toward my palm. I saw the corners of his eyes start to lighten, the talons on his hands just barely start to recede. But then the light within him seemed to reach a limit, and the darkness clung, hanging the way it does at the edge of a fire’s glow. I reached deeper.  _Are we not all things?_  I had found the light within Nikolai. But if everything was truly made up of the same parts, then shouldn’t I be able to find it within the darkness itself, too? Whatever the answer, what I was doing now was not enough. I couldn’t fix Nikolai this way.

I reached deeper, pushing into the shadows, looking for familiarity within them. Nikolai was panting, his eyes closed, a crease between his brows. A low, pained whine rose from his throat, but his grip around my wrist was iron.

“It’s working,” I reassured him. As though a door cracking open, I found gaps in the darkness, and through them I could feel warmth and familiarity. “It’s working, Nikolai. I just need to--”

The moment I tried to make the light grow, I felt the darkness push back, enveloping and washing it away as a candle flame banishes the night. All at once, the cracks exploded outward from my hand, rebounding as if furious, and just as dark as before, like the roots of a tree drinking deep of poisoned water. To my horror, they looked like they stretched farther than they had before. Not much, hardly anything at all, but the difference was there.

Nikolai shoved away from me with a frustrated snarl. He looked down at his chest, misery carved into his features. His shoulders slumped, his wings roiling with the same shifting movement as the Fold.

“I’m so sorry,” I uttered miserably. “I don’t. . . I don’t know how to fix it. Yet,” I amended.

He dropped to his haunches, elbows resting on his knees, face buried in his hands. Nikolai had been infinitely capable, confident in his belief that every problem had a solution and he would be the one to find it. I couldn’t bear seeing him this way, broken and defeated.

I approached him cautiously and crouched down. Tentatively, I reached out and touched his arms, pulling his hands away from his face, ready to draw back if he startled or snapped, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. His skin was cold, as if he’d been out in the night air too long without a shirt. I leaned in and slipped my arms around him, careful to avoid the wings that rustled at his back.

“I love you,” I whispered. “No matter what you are. We’ll figure this out. I promise. I won’t give up on you.”

He dropped his forehead to my shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Nikolai,” I breathed.

He released a small, shuddering sigh.

Then when he drew the breath back in, he tensed. He turned his head inward. I felt his breath on my neck, the scrape of one of his teeth beneath my jaw.

“Nikolai?” I asked tensely.

His arms clamped around me. His claws dug into my back and I cried out. There was no mistaking the growl that issued from his chest.

“Stop!” I tried to push away from him, but his grip was unbreakable. I cast light against my skin and he was forced to let go or blister.

I shot to my feet and backed away. “Knock it off!” I ordered harshly. “This isn’t you!”

His hands flexed. His lips had pulled back to reveal his onyx fangs. I knew what I saw in him: appetite.

“I know I don’t know what it’s like, Nikolai,” I said, my voice hard and quavering and warning. I felt the others running toward us. I knew we didn't have long. "But I know you. I know that no matter what he did to you, you’re still in there. Nothing could control you, not completely, not even him.” Unless he had left just enough of the man intact under the surface to really suffer at what had been made of him.

He took a step toward me. Another rumbling, animal growl rolled through him.

 _“Get yourself under control,”_  I demanded. “I don’t want you to run away again and I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

I saw the moment that reason returned. His face crumpled in horror at what he’d wanted to do, at what some part of him probably still wanted to do. His body was trembling with the desire to feed.

“I know what it’s like to want to murder,” I said. “To kill to satisfy a monster that’s inside of you. I know it’s not the same, but if anyone can begin to understand, it’s me. You’re not evil, you’re not your desires, you’re not what you  _almost_  do, you're not what you're _forced_ to do. You’re what you decide to do, what you end up holding back,  _especially_  when that’s the last thing you want and you have to fight it with everything you are.”

His black eyes brimmed with flickering shadows. Were they tears? He clenched his fists, threw back his head. The tendons in his neck knotted, and he released an echoing shriek of helplessness and rage. It was a sound no human or animal could make, but I’d heard it before, when the Darkling summoned the nichevo’ya, the rending of the fabric of the world, the cry of something that should not be.

He launched himself into the air and vanished behind the trees. All I could do was stand helplessly, staring at the place where he had disappeared, feeling him pump his wings to get as far away has could as fast as he could.

Mal, Harshaw, and Zoya were barreling toward me, Oncat yowling and darting between their legs. Harshaw had his flint out, and Mal was unslinging his rifle. I didn’t turn around.

Zoya’s eyes were wide. “Was that a nichevo’ya?”

“No," I whispered miserably. "It was Nikolai.”

They stopped dead. “He found us?” said Mal.

“He’s been following us since we left the Spinning Wheel.”

“But the Darkling might be—”

“No. I thought about that, too, but I don’t think so. If he had to report to the Darkling, we wouldn’t still be here.”

“How long have you known he was following us?” asked Zoya angrily.

“Since we landed. There was nothing to do about it, and he seemed. . . I think he remembers. He’s still in there.” I glanced down at the ring on my finger. With a sigh, I slipped it off and replaced it on the middle finger of my right hand, twisting it so the gem faced the safety of my palm.

“We could have had Mal put an arrow through him,” said Harshaw.

“You could have,” I said, barely managing to control a swell of anger. “But I wouldn’t recommend trying. Anyone who wants to hurt him will go through me, and I will kill to protect him.”

“Easy,” said Mal, stepping forward. “He’s gone now, and there’s no point fighting about it. Harshaw, go start a fire. Zoya, the grouse we caught need cleaning.”

She stared at him and didn’t budge. He rolled his eyes.

“Do it or delegate it, I don’t care. Just please go and. . . order somebody around. Whatever you want.”

“My pleasure.”

Harshaw returned his flint to his sleeve. “They’re all crazy, Oncat,” he said to the tabby. “Invisible armies, monster princes. Let’s go set fire to something.”

I wrapped my arms around myself and let my gaze fall. “Are you going to yell at me now, too?” I asked mulishly.

“No. I mean, I’ve wanted to shoot Nikolai plenty of times, but that seems a little petty now. Curious about the ring, though.”

I looked down at it again, twisting it absently with a thumb, and finally turned around. “He did it. I held it out to him, hoping he might remember something, and he took it and put it on my ring finger. Then he asked me, told me to try and fix him.”

Mal’s eyes widened. “He spoke to you?”

“No, but he still made it pretty clear.”

“But it didn’t. . . go well? That wasn’t happy shouting we heard.”

“No. It didn’t go well. I have some scratches on my back that will probably need tending to, in fact.”

“Saints.”

“More or less. I think he's still in there, he's just not  _all_  that's in there anymore.” I sighed heavily. “I think I see where you’ve been coming from now, though, all those times you tried to tell me that I’m more than my worst impulses. No matter how close I’ve come to acting on them.”

He paused. “I suppose I’ll have to thank him when he’s back to normal, then. Or before. That way he might not remember and he won’t be able to lord it over me later.”

I felt a sad, weak smile flicker over my face.

“You might be able to do fix him once the amplifiers are brought together, you know.”

My face went stony and I brushed past him without a word, heading back to camp. He followed, but wisely kept his thoughts to himself.

 

* * * * *

 

Long into the next day, Zoya had been eyeing Mal with something that looked like annoyance mixed with consternation. “How are you so chipper?” She finally demanded.

Mal nocked an arrow, drew back, and released. It twanged into what looked like a cloudless and empty sky, but a second later, we heard a distant  _caw_  and a shape plummeted to the earth nearly a mile ahead of us. He shouldered his bow. “Because everything’s going to be fine.”

“Are you a seer now?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “We’ll win. I guess you could call it faith.”

“. . . You’re disgusting. How can you be okay knowing that we just lost our greatest weapon?” I usually appreciated that Zoya didn’t hold back, but still I had to try not to let the words sting. “Nikolai is gone, we have no army. You do realize we’re all probably going to die?”

I snorted quietly and muttered, “I thought I was the dour one.”

“We all die,” Mal said as he jogged off to retrieve his kill. “Not everyone dies for a reason.”

I went tight.

“Are we philosophizing?” asked Harshaw. “Or were those song lyrics?”

Harshaw started humming, and we waited for Mal to come back. My eyes stayed on him as he shrank down in the distance and grew again as he approached.

“Don’t talk like that,” I said flatly when he had come back. My voice was almost cold.

“All right.”

I didn’t think I had ever wanted to hit him more. “Don’t  _think_  like it, either. You’re not dying any sooner than anyone else.”

He actually grinned.

A fit of rage overtook me. I swore at him violently at the top of my lungs and stormed away from the group.

“Touchy today,” I heard Zoya mutter.

“Oncat says they have a secret.”

Not fifteen feet from the group, I jerked up short, did a doubletake, and froze. The Darkling was standing in front of me.

“Hello, Alina,” he said. His voice was chocolate and rich soil and the staccato beating of my pulse.

“Alina?” I heard Mal ask from behind me, his voice wary and alert.

My hand snapped up, palm facing him. “Stay back,” I ordered, my voice steady, eyes on the Darkling.

“What is it?” He asked.

A little smirk tugged at one side of the Darkling’s mouth. “Busy with friends, I take it? You look like you’ve been traveling.”

I stepped around him in a circle until I could see the others over his shoulders. “He’s here,” I said to them.

Immediately everyone was on their feet, hands uselessly going to weapons and raising to use Grisha power, but I held a hand out again, my eyes never leaving the pale face in front of me. “Just stay there,” I said. “He can’t see you or hear you if you stay back.” My voice was so calm and level, I almost reminded myself of him. “What do you want?” I asked.

He stared at me in silence until something that was almost close to a smile spread slowly over his lips. But it was guarded and layered in a way I didn’t recognize. Too lightly, he said, “I’ve declared a ceasefire with Western Ravka.”

I felt my eyes go wide.

“What is it?” Mal asked tightly. “What does he want, Alina?”

I opened my mouth, but couldn’t get any sound to come out at first. I stopped and swallowed. “I won’t be able to verify that for at least a week,” I lied. We weren’t that far from the others, but I saw no reason not to buy myself time.

“Call me before you do,” he said. “And I suggest you hurry, or you won’t like what happens next.”

I felt my brow wrinkle. “Call you ho--”

But just like that, he was gone. All the tension left me, and I sagged where I stood. I put my head in my hands.

“Alina?” Mal asked, voice tense.

This should make me happy. It should be good news. But it didn’t, and I doubted it was. The Darkling would never forfeit ground willingly, not unless it would give him a considerable advantage. I tensed, wondering if he had already gone through with his plans to attack Western Ravka. It would explain how he had acted in the coach. But if he had, why give me the chance to confirm that this was a lie?

_”Alina--”_

“I’m fine,” I snapped, then immediately gentled my voice. “I’m fine. I’m sorry. He just. . . he’s gone. But. . . he said he declared a ceasefire with Western Ravka.”

Zoya’s face went slack, Tolya’s hand tightened on his axe, and Harshaw looked worried.

“It’s a trick,” Mal said.

“I know. I just don’t know  _how._  I. . . “ I looked at Mal, then glanced at the others. “Come with me,” I said to him. I turned and strode away from the group, my steps long.

When we had gone far enough, I turned to face Mal. “I went to talk to him on the plateau, after the firebird,” I said without preamble.

Somehow, there was no judgement or accusation on his face, just calm attention.

I glanced down for a moment before going on, feeling oddly guilty. I had been prepared for his judgement, not for acceptance. “He was smug. He said he had expected me sooner. I assumed he had done something, but I didn’t have it in me to ask. Now he’s here telling me he declared a truce.”

“You think he’s already destroyed Western Ravka.”

“I think he planned to do it and he had the means, so he wouldn’t waste time. He’d be eager to use the Fold and to crush the people who stood against him so openly, especially after he warned me he was about to do it. What I don’t understand is why he’d tell me he pardoned dead people when he knows I’m going to find out the truth. He didn’t even argue, didn’t try to stop me from confirming it. He just told me to hurry, and that he wanted to be there when I was told.”

Mal’s eyes tightened and he looked away, thinking. Eventually, he just shook his head. “It doesn’t change our plan either way. We have to get back to the others.”

I swallowed. “What if he found them?” Nikolai had managed to follow us when we were invisible, and I had no way to tell if he was compelled to do as the Darkling bade, or even if they had some sort of connection the way the Darkling and I did. For all I believed that wasn't the case, I couldn't know. He had been flitting in and out of my awareness almost every day as we had traveled. If the Darkling had been able to track Mal and me across the ocean, he would have had no trouble following our friends to a nearby town. But if we picked up that something was wrong and fled, he’d only have to waste more time tracking us down again, even if it just meant getting reports from Nikolai. I only knew one way to make sure that couldn’t happen, and the thought made my stomach roil.

“Alina,” Mal said quietly, calling my attention back to him. His eyes were soft. He looked like. . . .

Before I could consciously register why, I went cold. Then he said, with infinite care, “Maybe it’s time to--”

 _”Don’t!"_  I yelled at the top of my lungs. Light, glittering and brilliant, sucked inward with the cry. It settled around me, buzzing and crackling, licking over my skin. “Don’t,” I repeated, my voice hard and uneven. “I have watched you saying goodbye, and I left you alone because it was something you needed, but if you think for a second that I’m actually going to  _take your life,_  you are out of your Saintsforsaken mind,” I spat.

He was utterly unaffected. He just looked at me with understanding and I wanted to hit him, over and over until he snapped out of it, until he acted like we were actually talking about ending his life, about me murdering him.

“You asked me to do the same, once. Is this so different?”

“Of course it’s different!” I screamed. “It’s-- I--” I growled and clenched my fists at my sides. “You couldn’t, so how can you ask me to?”

He grinned, sad and lopsided. “You’ve always been the strong one. We both know that. You cut your own throat, for Saints’ sake. You need the power, especially if he might be waiting for us. And this way. . . .” He looked down, shrugged a shoulder. Quietly, he said, “At least a piece of me will always be with you.”

I sputtered, too many things I wanted to scream at him tripping over one another in my mind. Didn’t he know how wrong that sounded? Didn’t he understand how this was different from what I had done when the Darkling had killed the stag? Should I just take to carving bones out of everyone I was going to miss and having them made into jewelry? I felt ill. Ill and furious.

“You realize how insane that is, right?” I asked with impressive calm. I strode forward. So close to him, I was suddenly angry again, and I grabbed the lapels of his coat, yanking him toward me. He tried to speak, but I cut him off. “Don’t you dare tell me this is going to be ok, that it will work out,” I said fiercely. “You think I haven’t been confused? Lost? That I haven’t felt weak and afraid and alone and angry and like the world's biggest idiot? And now, what, you want to take the easy way out and leave me here to deal with it alone? You want to just die?” I demanded.

We stood in the tall grass, wind singing through the reeds. He met my gaze, his blue eyes steady. “It’s not going to be okay.” He brushed the hair back from my cheeks and cupped my face in his rough hands. I wanted to jerk away. I couldn’t. I couldn’t even pull back enough to hit him. “And Saints help me, Alina, I want to live forever.”

My breath trembled. I missed the safety of that nothingness, that void of emotion, because now I felt too much, and I couldn’t think. All at once, I went up on my toes and kissed him, hard. It took him the barest second to react, then he dropped his bow and kissed me back, arms winding tight around me, the hard planes of his body pressed against mine.

He kissed me, and he didn’t stop—not until my cheeks were flushed and my heart was racing, not until my lips were red, until my belly ached and I could barely remember my own name, let alone anyone else’s. Not until we heard Harshaw singing, and Tolya grumbling, and Zoya cheerfully and loudly promising to murder us all.

“Alina—” he began. He skimmed his lips over mine.

I recognized the tone. “Don’t,” I ordered, vehement.  _”We will find another way._  It’s what we do.”

 

* * * * *

 

That night, I slept in Mal’s arms, wrapped in furs beneath the stars. We whispered in the dark, kissing, conscious of the others lying only a handful of feet away. It felt perfect, it felt like the way things should have always been between us. But I was so afraid, I couldn’t stop the cold feeling that it was also somehow like saying goodbye. I cried softly more than once.

A small part of me almost wished that a Shu raiding party would come and put a bullet through both of our hearts, leave us there forever, two bodies that would turn to dust and be forgotten, free of wars and horrifying decisions. I thought about leaving with him, abandoning the others, abandoning Ravka as we’d once intended, striking out through the mountains and making our way to the coast.

I thought of all these things and many more. But I rose the next morning, and the morning after that. I ate dry biscuits, drank bitter tea. Too soon, the mountains faded, and we began our final descent into Dva Stolba. We’d arrived back sooner than expected, in time to retrieve the Bittern and still meet any forces the Apparat might send to Caryeva. When I saw the two stone spindles of the ruins, I stopped and stared up at them. Then, without a word, I did what time and weather had failed to. I called the light and blew them to rubble and dust from the inside, then walked away without a backwards glance.


	18. Keep To Your Duties

It took some time to locate the boardinghouse where Tamar and the others had found lodging. It was two stories high and painted a cheerful blue, its porch hung with prayer bells, its pointed roof covered in Shu inscriptions that glittered with gold pigment. I carefully bent the light around us before we entered the little settlement so we wouldn’t look like we’d just been trekking through mountains for two weeks. I also changed everyone’s hair color and cast Oncat and Tolya out of sight.

We found Tamar and Nadia seated at a low table in one of the public rooms, Adrik beside them, his empty coat sleeve neatly pinned, a book perched awkwardly on his knees. They tensed when we approached, until they saw our faces and Mal quietly said, “Meet us upstairs.” They sprang to their feet and hurried away with us close behind.

Tamar stopped at a door on the right, halfway down the hall, and slipped a little key into its lock. The room was painted in reds and blues, just as cheerful as the rest of the place. I saw her jacket thrown over a chair by the tin basin, the two narrow beds pushed together, the rumpled wool blankets. The window was open, and autumn sunlight flooded through. A cool breeze lifted the curtains.

The instant we were all inside, I let the illusions drop and Tolya enveloped his sister in an enormous hug, while Zoya gave Nadia and Adrik a grudging embrace. Tamar hugged me close as Oncat sprang from Harshaw’s shoulders to sniff around the desk and edges of the room.

“What happened?” Tamar asked, taking in my troubled expression.

I loosed a tight sigh. “A lot. But not now. I have to meet the Darkling soon-- Just his image,” I amended at the horrified looks on her’s, Nadia’s and Aidrik’s faces, “not in person. We can fill you in a little later, but right now, I’d like to get some rest.” I’d decided to give everyone a day to themselves before diving headfirst into whatever game the Darkling was planning. I’d told him I would need over a week, and though he’d warned me to hurry, it had only been three days since he’d appeared in the field. We had time. “Where’s--”

Misha came pelting into the room and hurled himself at Mal. “You came back!” he shouted.

“Of course we did,” said Mal, sweeping him into a hug. “Did you keep to your duties?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I expect a full report later.”

Misha nodded solemnly. “But Sergei is worse than Baghra,” he muttered.

“Is he alright?” I turned and asked Tamar.

She shrugged. “No better, no worse. He stays locked in his room, but I make sure he eats and walks around a little.”

“Come on, enough about Sergei,” Adrik said eagerly. “Did you find it? David’s in his room with Genya. Should I go get him?”

“Adrik,” chastised Nadia, “they’re exhausted and probably starving.”

“Is there tea?” Tolya asked him.

Adrik nodded and went off to order, looking put upon.

“We have news,” said Tamar, “and it isn’t good.”

I looked at her for a moment. “Western Ravka?” I guessed, voice grim.

Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t. It was just. . . an educated guess,” I hedged. “Don’t tell me any more, though. He’s set conditions for our next meeting, and part of it is that he wants to be here when I find out what he’s done. I’m not eager to indulge him, but if he’s telling the truth. . . . Anyway, he made it clear I wouldn’t like what happened if I didn’t.”

“So you’re just going to do what he says?” Nadia asked, her voice more angry and forceful than I had ever heard it.

“While it’s in our best interests to do so, yes.”

Tamar broke the ensuing silence. “She knows him better than anyone,” she said to Nadia. “I trust her.”

The Squaller rolled her eyes. “I know you do. Sometimes I think you have the wrong girlfriend.”

A huge, ridiculous grin broke out over Tamar's face.

 

* * * * *

 

I fell into a fitful sleep immediately after bathing, and was woken to join the others for dinner. We ate in Tamar’s room and filled them in on everything. The firebird, my talks with the Darkling, and Nikolai.

“I don’t understand,” Tamar said. “The other amplifiers existed. How could the last one not? Are we sure it was the firebird? Maybe Morozova chose something else.”

My stomach turned and I set my food down, suddenly unable to eat. “The journals don’t mention anything about another possible choice for the last amplifier.”

“No, but they do cut off abruptly. Is it possible we missed some? That the Apparat has them, or they were destroyed, or better hidden than the others?”

Next to me, Mal stopped eating, too. I wondered how much longer I was going to have before he forced the argument that I knew was coming.

“A lot is possible,” I said wearily, ignoring the knife’s twist in my heart. “But we don’t have time to look. We need to work with what we have and figure out what to do now. I think the best place to start is figuring out how to help Nikolai. Have you had any ideas?” I asked, turning to David.

“Some,” he said hesitantly. “But I don’t think any of them will work. Can you tell me more about what you did to him?”

We talked like that long into the night, theorizing and discussing possibilities, trying to form a plan for every possible outcome, asking questions and guessing at answers. In the end, it was Mal who insisted we all get some sleep, and I had to agree. We had no idea what was coming tomorrow, and for all our planning and preparation, it could change everything.

 

* * * * *

 

I wasn’t sure how to call the Darkling to me, but given the things I’d managed to figure out on my own so far and his obvious confidence that I would manage, I wasn’t too worried. I insisted on everyone being with me when we talked--I wanted every mind, every possible opinion available. The only exceptions I made were for Misha, who was gravely unhappy about being left again so soon, until Mal promised we’d be back for dinner, and Sergei. I saw no reason to put him through it, and went so far as to ask everyone to keep word of our meeting to themselves.

After breakfast, I put on my dirty travel clothes again and, once we were away from town and deep into the woods, dirtied my skin and hair, too. We walked for almost an hour, just to make sure we wouldn’t be overheard. I knew I would feel it if anyone came close, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

When Mal said we were far enough from the village, I took a minute to settle myself. Then I walked several paces away from the others, turned to face them, and felt for the tether. I wound through it and around it I could feel pieces of him, the pieces that had told me when he’d been especially excited or upset over the last weeks. I brushed up against them and imagined a hand beckoning to him, reaching out and pulling at them gently. I slid along our connection and tugged at the presence on the other side.

He appeared instantly, so abruptly that I couldn’t help the little gasp that escaped me.

“I figured you’d be busy,” I said to cover my shock. My eyes darted behind him to Mal. His face was calm and steady. I was certain he was tense. He had to be. But all he exuded was calm reassurance.

“I’m always busy, Alina, especially now. How much do you know?”

His businesslike impatience put me on edge and made me even more wary. “I know you went through with your plans for Western Ravka, but I had already guessed that much.” His lips twitched, dark and amused and, I thought, a little approving. It set my hackles raising. “I stopped it before I got any detail.”

“Good,” he said with a slight nod. “Go ahead.”

I felt my face go hard at his permissive tone and tried again to brace myself for whatever was coming. “Tell me the rest,” I said a little more loudly, looking to Tamar where she stood next to Mal. I kept my eyes on the Darkling, watching him study me, watching him wait, watching something hungry and eager stirring under the perfect calm.

“He attacked West Ravka,” Tamar said, “like you guessed. Almost immediately after you left.” I let my eyes close for a moment of sick relief that I couldn’t have stopped it. “He used the Fold to take a big chunk out of the south, but from what we’ve heard, most of the people had already evacuated.”

That was something, at least.

“There are rumors that cells of Nikolai’s forces have been cropping up, fighting under the Lantsov banner, but without Nikolai to lead them, we’re not sure how long they’ll hold out.” Then she stopped and glanced at Nadia.

I looked at her. “Are you _trying_ to make me nervous?”

“No, sorry. It’s just. . . .” she sighed. “I spent two days confirming it, but I’m still not sure I believe it. It sounds like after he pushed the Fold out, the Darkling declared a ceasefire with Western Ravka.”

I couldn’t help it. I felt my eyes go wide and my lips part.

“There’s more,” she said. My heart dove and my eyes darted a look at the Darkling’s face, but I could read nothing helpful from it, so I looked back and nodded for her to go on.

“Along with notice of the ceasefire, he issued pardons.”

I actually gaped now, and my eyes snapped to his face. He must know from my reaction that she’d told me, but he was still just watching, waiting.

“They don’t apply to officers, but any soldier or civilian who swears themself to the throne is guaranteed a full pardon.”

My lips moved before I could make sound come out. “You confirmed this?”

She nodded grimly. “There are official documents. There’s nothing stopping him from going back on his word, but it would be a stupid move if he did.”

The Darkling didn’t seem to care if he ruled by cruelty and fear. All the same, he didn’t control the world yet, and if he went back on an official decree of such magnitude, who would ever trust him? Who would trade with him, cooperate with him? As it was, after what he had done the first time he had taken me onto the Fold, it was a miracle he had gained Fjerda’s partnership. I couldn’t find the holes in what he had done here.

“What are you playing at?” I asked him. The others watched in wary silence. None of them had been comfortable with this plan, not even when I assured them that he couldn’t hurt me, that I could send him away in an instant, that to him, they would be mute and invisible.

“Playing?” He walked toward me until I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “I am done playing, Alina.” His voice had a hard, warning edge under it. “If you don’t believe me, I have an entire unit of soldiers and several families who can vouch for the sincerity of my offer. They have been fed, tended to, and are receiving help to relocate. More are on the way. I will always do what I have to, but I am not bloodthirsty. Well,” he amended with a cold light in his pale eyes, “not toward most people." I knew exactly who he meant.

“I am lifetimes removed from the naivety needed to believe that I could put Ravka to rights without spilling blood. But I have no interest in taking more than I must, more than I need to finish this war once and for all.” Unless someone fought too hard, rebelled too well. “Consider these pardons a down payment. When you return, I will extend them to officers.”

I shook my head in denial. This was too easy. He reached forward and took my chin, leaning in until I could feel his breath on my face. I froze. Behind him, I saw the others tense, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away from his.

“Don’t move,” I said to them. “Don’t speak, and don’t move, no matter what.” Even though they knew it would be useless, more than one hand went silently to a weapon hilt.

The Darkling didn’t acknowledge that I had spoken, nor did I see him make any effort to find out where I was or who I was with. He didn’t look from my face, and it made my skin prick with cold worry. “I will take what I want from you, if I have to,” he murmured. “You know I will. I will raze the world until you have nowhere left to go and no one left who would dare offer you aid if you make me. But that isn’t what I want,” he said, his low, quiet voice emphatic. “I have waited hundreds of years for this moment, for your power, for this chance. I have earned it with loss and with struggle. I will have it, Alina. Whatever the cost. There is nothing I won’t do to get it.

“So you’re threatening me,” I said coldly.

“No. No, Alina.” Whatever was in his eyes pierced mine and burrowed deep under my skin. “I am telling you the truth.”

My breath caught. I could _feel_ the the honesty and certainty behind his words. “What are you doing?” I breathed. “What is this? I’m not with you, how can I feel you?”

“I’m not doing anything. I don't have to. Even apart, our connection has only grown, and it will continue to do so. Do you think I haven’t felt you? Your triumphs, your weariness and loneliness, your anger and amusement? Your hunger? Do you think I don’t recognize them? Do you think I haven’t felt them all myself?”

I felt my brows pull together. I wanted to believe he was only saying what I wanted to hear, but I knew he wasn’t, and that, the terror it drew out in me, was what made me pull myself back and step away from him.

He let his hand fall and didn’t move toward me again. I saw the others behind him, tense as bowstrings, and I looked at them just long enough to give a minute shake of my head. I wanted to tell them they could talk again, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t stomach the idea that someone might interrupt.

“Come. Back,” the Darkling said again. “Bring the tracker. When we have the firebird, he can go wherever he likes. So long as he doesn’t fight me, I won’t look for him.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” I scoffed.

“Oh, it isn’t what I want,” he said, a note of darkness spilling into his voice. “It’s far from what I want. But you and I have a very long time together ahead of us, and his existence your price. I’m stronger than you. I’m more stubborn, more determined. What I _want_ is for you to come to me of your own free will. To rule with me. To stand with me. So I will try this your way, Alina. Once. If it doesn’t work. . . .” He shrugged, and something passed behind his eyes that sent a chill through me. “I’m prepared for any eventuality.”

He could say he wasn’t threatening me all he wanted, and maybe his warped morality even let him believe it was true. But that was all this was. Maybe it was all he knew how to do.

“So you’ll buy me this way, you’ll get me to come back, and then what? When you have what you want, does your mercy fall away? Your ability to compromise? What happens the first time I disagree with you, if I act against you? Will you take my eyes? Or worse? If I let my guard down, will you send your people after Mal?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but it was his only outward reaction. “Baghra and I had hundreds of years between us. I don’t expect you to understand what that meant.”

“Meaning I’m in _more_ danger the longer we’re together?”

Something hungry flashed behind his eyes. He paused, shook his head. “You still understand so little. You’re still so afraid.”

“Afraid?” I shouted, incredulous. “This isn’t fear, it’s experience! You’re brutal, and you don’t forgive!”

“You have seen me at my worst, Alina. You have no idea what I’m like at my best. You’ve never seen me get what I want, let alone something I have waited hundreds of years for.

“I could tell you I’d give you everything, and I will, but I know that isn’t what you care about. Instead, what I offer you, what I will give you, is peace. Peace for every farmer, for every soldier, for every elder and child, every merchant and baker. Safe roads and cities, safe borders. Peace this country, this world has never known. For the first time in generations, towns will grow larger than their graveyards. And you will be there to guide it,” he said, his eyes too bright, his voice too intense, “to shape it, to still my hand when I forget what it is to be human. To _teach me mercy.”_

No. It was never this easy with him. And I was insulted he thought I’d believe it. But at the same time, I knew he meant it. Or at least he thought he did. But there was a world of difference between those two things, and there was a world of difference between what a person would do to get what they wanted, and how long it would last once they had. So I pointed out exactly that.

“How long am I supposed to believe that will last?”

“You’ll have things I never did. You won’t have to fight for everything--”

“I’ve already had to fight for everything! You had your mother, I had Mal, and all you’ve tried to do is murder him and use us against each other! Fighting for things in life is what makes a person _more_ human, not less. You became ruthless to get what you wanted, I understand that, but it was a choice. You could have become more compassionate instead. What have you made of me since that day you dragged me away from Kribursk? Have I gotten kinder, softer? Or have I only become more like you? Who has had the affect on whom?” I yelled. “You’re offering me this, but you’re only doing it because you don’t want to have to tear the country apart looking for me while you’re trying to tear it apart to keep your stolen throne!”

“Is that what you think?” His voice was quiet, perfectly calm, but something about it sent icy fingers of sick fear up my bones. Behind his eyes, I saw the threat of horrors ready to be carried out. And I should have known. _I’m prepared for any eventuality,_ he’d said. It hadn’t been a bluff. I hadn’t needed to be. The Darkling always had a plan.

He looked at me, and it was that expression that was seeing too much. It reminded me of the first time we had met. “You have become more like yourself,” he said slowly. “And still you forgive where I would punish.” He canted his head at me, his voice going light. “Do you know what I wanted to do with Sergei, Alina? I wanted to have my nichevo’ya rip him to pieces in front of you. Tear his arms and legs off and have them dropped onto the face of the mountain to be eaten by birds.”

I felt ill, at the image and at how lightly he said it, as if he were talking about what sort of tea he liked to have with lunch. I felt my head give a little shake of denial.

“If I still felt as you do, if I still ached and cared as you do, I could not have borne this eternity. I have lived a long life, rich in grief. My tears are long since spent. I have done what was necessary. But I have felt more, Alina, and more strongly, since finding you than I have in over three hundred years.”

I had been still before, but now I froze as if a deer scenting a hunter. When I saw Mal take a careful, testing step forward, saw Tolya’s hand dart out and clamp down on his arm, I realized I must look horrified. “It’s alright,” I said. My voice cracked in the middle and I had to clear my throat. “He’s not touching me.”

“What is he saying?” Mal asked immediately.

“I. . . a lot.” The Darkling’s eyes stayed riveted to my face as I spoke. “He’s trying,” I paused, returned my eyes to his, “trying to get me to go back. We’re discussing the emotional and moral tolls of immortality,” I said hollowly.

“Alina,” Mal said, his eyes intense but his voice calm, reassuring. He waited until I looked back to him. “He will say anything. You know that. Listen to the people you can trust. We’re all here for you.” I saw more than one head nod, firm and sure.

I felt dazed, but my eyes slowly found their way back to the Darkling. “People aren’t what they do when they’re in good moods,” I said, my voice unnaturally calm. “They’re what they do when they’re angry and hurt and want to hurt others in return. They’re the worst things they’ve ever done just as much as they are the best things. Whether they feel or not.”

“I never claimed to be a good man. But do you think I have enjoyed what I’ve had to do?” He took a step toward me, gray eyes intense. “Do you think I enjoy playing the monster? No. I have done what I had to.

“You are an addiction. Everything about you is an addiction. The _idea_ of you is an addiction.” His voice was sincere even as it was resentful. I tasted some of that old bitterness from a kiss stolen in a sitting room so many months ago. “When we kissed at the Grand Palace, you said I was angry.” I started - did he know what I was thinking? “That is why. Because I knew that eventually, this would be the result.” A frenetic light was entering his eyes. “I am ancient, Alina, and since you have come, I _want,”_ he said, almost manic. Suddenly he was real, human. No more than a man suffering over being denied what he craved. “I hunger. You can’t possibly imagine--” He stopped and closed his eyes, and I could feel him trying to regain control. It was so unnerving that for a moment I felt outside of myself. _“I_ couldn’t imagine. Didn’t. Not even waiting you, waiting for you as I did for so long.

“I am inside you, Alina. Do you think I don’t feel it when you fight yourself? Do you think I don’t know what you want?” He took steps toward me. “I’m learning what it feels like when you fight it. When you tell yourself it’s not true, not honest, but you know it is, and that voice that argues gets weaker every day, even as you use your tracker and whoever else you’re with to strengthen it. Every day you’re with them, every day you realize a little more what’s coming for you. What it’s like not to just look at today, tomorrow, but at hundreds of years, dozens of generations, to care in a way they can’t, to plan in a way they don’t even bother to think of. To know more and more the chasm between you and everyone else, things they can’t understand, the void beneath all things.”

He was pushing at a weak point in me, I knew that. But that didn’t stop it from working, from the edges giving way and granting him access to a part of me I didn’t want him near.

“Consider your options,” he said. “Do you think I’m not prepared for you to take the third amplifier and use it against me? Do you think I’m not prepared for whatever soldiers you or the Lantsov boy have tucked away?” He leaned toward me, suddenly inches away. When had he gotten so close? “Do you think you have seen even a fraction of what I can do?”

I felt my face go slack with horror.

“Play it out, Alina. What happens if you fight me? Even if you win, and you won’t, then what? It’s the same question you have asked every time part of you has reached toward eternity: what happens when your golden prince is gone? How long until the country falls again? And that’s _if_ you defeat me--that’s your best case scenario. Lifetimes of watching idiot rulers grind the country into the dust. Alone. How long, do you think, until you become worse than I ever was?

“You think you feel different now? Divided, separate, other? You have no idea. Wait. Wait until you see your hundredth year. It gets harder after that, after you are forced not just to understand, but to _see_ that you aren’t quite human. After that reality isn’t an idea, it’s staring you in the face every time you look in a mirror. After everyone you’ve loved has aged and their bodies have decayed out from under them. Have you imagined your tracker’s face weathered and wrinkled, his skin sagging, his hair gray, his muscles gone soft? Have you imagined him frail and thin, closing his eyes for the last time?” I put a hand to my stomach to ease the roil of nausea. “Your five hundredth year is hard, too. That’s when the places you knew have begun to crumble, and you start to know what it means to outlive stone.

“What do you think you would do in my place? Would you run away and live in the forest like a hermit, ignore the suffering and injustice around you? That doesn’t sound like you. But let's say you did. How long do you think that would last until you started to feel yourself going mad?

“What exactly do you think you would do, Alina?” He drew his lips back, and I saw a flash of real, naked anger there. “What is your better plan?”

The world contracted to the point of a needle. I heard the ocean, the rushing of water.

_It's on me, and me alone! Everyone tells me, eagerly, what not to do, but none of you can give me any alternatives! There's no other way! I can't abandon this. I won't._

_You’re fine telling me you hate my plan, but you don’t have a single alternative to offer._

How many times had I thought that? How many times, to how many people, had I said it? _I know what the right thing is, and that’s what I will do. If you don’t like how I plan to handle it, give me a better option._

Suddenly it was as if I was seeing my reflection, my future, and I felt dizzy. I couldn’t remember why I was arguing, why I thought he was such a monster, why the price he demanded was too high to pay if it meant that not just this generation, but _every_ generation would be secure in the knowledge that they wouldn’t have to watch their parents, siblings, and children get fed to an endless war. If people could hope for more than survival. There was always a sacrifice. But if that sacrifice bought peace? If it was the last one that had to be made?

“I. . . I need to think,” I said, and the voice that came out of my lips was one I hardly recognized. “Leave.”

I heard a smile in his voice. “Don’t take too long, Alina.” Despite his silken tone, the warning in his voice was as clear and sharp as morning ice. Then just like that, he was gone.

A breath whooshed out of me and I staggered, folding in on myself and nearly collapsing to the ground. Someone grunted quietly in anger, I heard a quiet argument, and I said, “He’s gone.” My voice was hollow and dry.

In an instant, Mal was in front of me, supporting me. “Are you alright?” He asked. “What did he do to you?”

Not _What did he say?_ Not _What did he want?,_ but _Are you alright?_ It felt like something in me was disintegrating, like a structure I thought had been there was turning out now to be no more than a layer of paper-thin dried mud finally giving out. Wrong. This was all wrong.

I pushed away from Mal, my hands up as if to protect myself, stopping him touching me or coming closer.

“Alina. What did he do?” It was the tight tension in his voice, the strain, that finally called me back to myself. I saw him for the first time, and his face was etched with worry.

“It. . . I don’t. . . I. . . .” I couldn’t make my thoughts come out in any kind of order, I couldn’t force words to make sense. I kept opening and closing my mouth, lost, drowning in a thick sea, until he came forward again and carefully folded his arms around me, pulling me to him.

“It’s ok,” he murmured. “It’s ok. Just breathe. There you go. All you have to worry about is breathing. I'm here. We're all here. It’s alright.”

But it wasn’t alright, and I couldn’t make my mouth form the words.

 

* * * * *

 

By the time we got to the boarding house, I was still trying to sort out how much to tell the others, and how. But I was spared the need, because as soon as we entered, a small form streaked toward us, and little hands clamped around one of mine, squeezing as hard as they could.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry,” Misha said, over and over. “I just had to go to the bathroom, I was only gone for a minute, I’m so sorry--”

“Misha,” Mal said, coming up and pulling the boy aside, then crouching in front of him. “Calm down. What happened?” He lowered his voice to a near whisper, urging the boy to do the same. The main room of the boarding house was empty, but someone could be just around a corner.

“He’s gone,” Misha whispered, distraught. “Sergei. I watched him like you said, but he didn’t do anything, he just stared into space, so I went to the bathroom. I wasn’t even gone a minute, and I locked the door, but when I got back, he was gone! He wasn’t anywhere, not here, not outside. I couldn’t find him.” Tears swelled in his eyes, but he screwed up his face and didn’t let them fall.

Mal looked back at the twins, who both nodded and hurried toward the door.

“I’ll join them,” Nadia said. Harshaw volunteered, and that left us looking at Zoya expectantly.

“What?” She said. “I never liked him even before he went crazy and betrayed us.”

At a look from Mal, she rolled her eyes, said “Fine,” and left behind the others, though with much less urgency.

We ordered food and headed up to the room Sergei and Misha had been in. After he told us that Sergei had wandered off not half of an hour after we left, Mal reassured the boy he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“He’s right,” I added when we made it to the room and had the door closed behind us. “None of us thought he would do anything like this, Misha. You couldn’t have known. He was probably waiting for a chance to sneak off.” Again.

Mal stood, a hand on Misha’s shoulder. “Should we leave?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see him going back to the--” I glanced at Misha, “going back, but we shouldn’t take any chances. We needed to head for Caryeva soon anyway, we’ll just have to cut our rest short.” I sat down heavily on the lone chair in the room.

“It’s my fault,” Aidrik said quietly. He was sitting on the bed, his back against the wall and his knees pulled up to his chest. His face looked white.

“What do you mean?” Mal asked.

“Sergei. It’s my fault.” He looked up at us, and his expression was horrified. “I didn’t. . . I was talking to myself this morning. He must have overheard.” We just looked at him until he added, “I was quiet, but I think I was muttering about what we were going to do.”

It felt like my stomach plummeted through the floor.

“I thought I was alone,” he said, stricken. “I heard a floorboard creak, but when I checked, no one was there.”

“Saints,” I breathed, and dropped my head into my hands. I felt like a cannonball hurled into something it couldn’t break, but it just kept pushing and straining, unable to stop, and every second was more brutal than the last. If it kept going like this, I was going to shatter.

Mal crouched down in front of me and put his hands on my knees. Eventually, he pulled my hands away from my face and made me look at him. “They’ll find him,” he said quietly. He sounded so sure.

“I can’t. . . .” Fat tears welled in my eyes and my vision blurred. “I can’t keep going like this,” I whispered. Adrik rose and took Misha out of the room. “I don’t know if I can take anymore. It never stops, and I’m so tired.”

He stood and pulled me up with him, wrapping his arms around my back and holding me to him. “I know.” He laid his cheek against the top of my head. “But you’re not alone, Alina. We’re all here for you. It’s almost over. You can get through this.”

As if on a delay, his words sunk in and I pulled back just enough to look at him. _It’s almost over,_ he said. _It’s almost time to kill me._

I felt like I had been dropped into a lake in the heart of winter, bound so tightly that I couldn’t even struggle. The world fell away as I sank, as the water grew heavier and the light faded away.

I didn’t know what was on my face, but the way Mal’s expression changed as he saw it made me pull away as if I would get cut if I stayed too close. For a long moment, all we did was look at one another. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to take him to bed, to force these thoughts out of him, as if that one act would change everything. But it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t change anything. It would just make everything hurt more.

I picked up a plate of food. “I need to be alone,” I said softly. “I’m taking Tamar’s room for the night. I don’t want to be disturbed. We’ll leave tomorrow after breakfast.”

“Alina. . . .” It felt like I could hear his thoughts in that one word, and I knew somehow that we were on the same page. That he knew why I was running away. I wondered if he wanted the same thing I did, even though he knew it would only make all of this more difficult. But he had the kindness not to push the talk. Not now.

I stopped, my hand gripping the doorknob. “I’m sorry,” I breathed. “I love you. And I’m sorry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I left him standing there without another word.

 

* * * * *

  

I didn’t eat, and I didn’t sleep. Long after I heard whispering voices in the hall, long after I felt the others go to their rooms, long after the lone lantern in the street outside my window had been put out, I lay on my bed atop the worn, heavy blanket, staring at the far wall.

I thought of slate gray eyes. Eyes that saw too much. I saw possessiveness in them. Need. Anger. A hunger I didn’t pretend to truly understand. I saw a mouth that spoke cool words and hid everything so well. I remembered touches, whispers, fears, threats. Promises and lies and manipulations.

_There are no others like us, Alina. And there never will be._

_You were meant to be my balance, Alina. You are the only person in the world who might rule with me, who might keep my power in check._

Something in my chest twisted.

I thought of an old woman, her face smooth and unmarred, who still somehow looked ancient. A woman who was tired and impatient. Demanding, tough and sharp, but inside, still hopeful. Still alive after countless ages for the only thing in the world she loved.

_You failed at the only real task I gave you. You failed me, you failed my son, you failed your country. I have no more use for you._

_Only the volcra have kept him from using the Fold against his enemies. They are his punishment, a living testimony to his arrogance. But you will change all that. Once the Darkling has used your power to subdue the volcra, he will be able to enter the Fold safely. He will finally have what he wants. There will be no limit to his power._

Except he didn’t need my power now. He wanted it, but that wasn’t the same thing.

_I don’t need to lie to you, not anymore. You’ve been mine from the moment you were born._

I felt my brows knit dully. It was as if something was fighting to come together in my mind.

_You cannot violate the rules of this world without a price. Forget Morozova and his madness._

_My son gave you his name. He told you of his past. Maybe there’s more hope left for him than I thought. Maybe not. Either way, it’s out of my hands._

I saw her fall.

_Think, Alina. If Ravka is made whole and the Kingdom can stand for itself once more, the Second Army will no longer be vital to its survival. The Darkling will be nothing but another servant of the King. Is that his dream of the future?_

_The people would love you for a time. But what would they think when their good king aged and died, while his witch of a wife remained young? When all those who remember your sacrifices are dust in the ground, how long do you think it will take for their children or their grandchildren to turn on you?_

I thought of a handsome prince, his golden hair, his charm and his wit, his strength. I saw cracks of darkness receding, wings folding away to nothing. A broken nose and clever, muddy eyes. A man courting a woman as they traveled the country and he taught her to lead.

_Don’t wish for bricks when you can build from stone. Use whatever or whoever is in front of you._

_Power is alliance._

_Weakness is a guise. Wear it when they need to know you’re human, but never when you feel it._

_It’s simply a question of finding the right incentive. Pauper or prince, every man can be bought._

I thought of his masks, of flawlessly polished boots and immaculate coats. I saw a parade of golden gowns emblazoned with suns.

_Play to the audience._

_The people love a spectacle._

_Understatement is overrated._

I thought of a tracker with brown hair and vivid blue eyes, a man blessed with confidence and charm and an extraordinary gift that had lain hidden in plain sight. I thought of the secret he had kept without knowing it, of the impossibility of him, of the impossibility that of all the people in the world, we would end up together. I thought of powerful, magnificent ancient beasts drawn to us when we came together. I thought of golden doors promising untold power, and the price of opening them.

_Tell me to go, Alina. Because I can’t give you a title or an army or any of the things you need._

_You keep storing up all that anger and grief. Eventually it spills over. Or you drown in it._

_I’m not sure how much of it is a lie anymore. I know what he is. But that’s the problem, too. He’s not just a monster. He’s not just a liar, a manipulator, cold and cruel. There’s something in him. . . . Sometimes I wonder. . . ._

_I have news for you, Alina. Trust and connection are tough for everyone._

_You have the same impulses he does. I’ve seen it. But you don’t give into them, no matter how much you want to. You find a way to get what you need without torture and murder. That’s why you’re better than he is, and you’ll be better than he is when we get you the firebird._

_What he did to Genya? To his mother? What he tried to do to you with that collar? To me when he threw me off the skiff and forced you to pull your light back? That’s weakness. That’s not a man cold and unfeeling, Alina, that’s a man afraid. I may never be able to understand what it is to live with your power, or knowing that I have eternity before me, but I know you’re better than that, and no matter how long you live, you’ll find ways to remind yourself what it’s like to be human so you don’t forget, too. Because that’s who you are. You care, and that doesn’t change just because other things about you are true, too._

How much had he seen as ages passed? What had it cost him to become what he was?

_I have seen your revolution, Alina. I have seen it crushed, and I have seen it won. I have seen the Lantsov boy take the throne. The nation may begin to heal under him. It may even prosper. For a time. But there are always more of the King and his idiot son than there are those who care for anything outside of their own gratification. There are always invaders. There are always dissidents and rebels. The world seeks to destroy good men._

_Someone has to lead, Alina. Someone has to end this. Believe me, I wish there were another way._

_What exactly do you think you would do, Alina? What is your better plan?_

_Girl, do not fail me again._

Slowly, as if in a trance, I sat up. Every muscle in my body was tensing, because like steam curling outward and toying at becoming solid, an idea was starting to form. It was reckless, it was foolish and arrogant and impossible. But I would not kill Mal. I would not allow Nikolai to live the rest of his life as a monster, warring with the impulse to feed. I would not let my country be crushed by a man too ancient to remember what it felt like to be a man. So really, what was left but foolishness?

_Now, that’s a word best not used around me. I tend to be overfond of risk._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "this chick went all out"
> 
> I look at bookmarks from time to time to see if people write any notes in them, and I found one for the series as a whole that had that note in it. It made me laugh, then grin, and I still totally go back and look at it from time to time. xD I love it.
> 
> There may be a number of changes to The Meeting in the future. All we were given clue-wise about the personality that lay under the surface of the Darkling were vague and sporadic, er, clues, so invariably, in a story in which he gets the girl, there are going to be some pretty huge leaps and assumptions on my part. That sort of thing is like a tinkering-magnet for me, because unintentional ooc. . . I'm violently allergic.
> 
> \- - - - -
> 
> 10/11/17: Remembered words at the end restructured a little to add a new quote. I feel devious pleasure at how much better it is now. *makes face of devious pleasure*  
> 10/27:17: Thanks to reader feedback (:D!) fixed some editing oversights re everyone heading upstairs straight off. Small tweaks other places.


	19. The not-chapter I refuse to let go of

 

~~I know this is weird and I kind of hate that I'm doing it, but I need to let everyone know what's up to take some pressure off myself so I can keep at this next chapter the way it deserves.~~

~~I've been working on it like normal, and have come to understand that, er, because of reasons, it's going to take a long time to get right. Might be a month. Or two. Might be three.~~

~~I just needed to know that you folks weren't sitting on the other side of the interweb going "when is this chapter comiiiiinnnnggg," and to know that the delay isn't because I'm just. . . not working on it. I will be working on it, somuch work. o_o~~

~~So yeah. It's going to take a while. It will *spoiler spoiler spoiler*.~~

~~Wish me luck!~~

~~\- - - - -~~

~~**Update Jan 2018** ~~  
~~Major, major, major brain stuff is slowing this way the hell down, but I haven't dropped it for a moment. It's at least 3/4 done, and if I can just get the last quarter _written,_ polishing it up should go very quickly.~~

~~Y'all are the best. <3~~


	20. Heroes, Saints, and Tyrants

I had no idea what time it was, and I couldn’t think to wonder, because the first thing I saw was the Darkling’s head against a pillow, his eyes closed in slumber. Every muscle in his face was relaxed. Every line was soft. He looked more real, more human, than I had ever seen him. Not a brilliant monster, not an unfeeling immortal, not a Grisha warped by the passing of too much time. Free of ambitions and plans, no more or less than a man. Even his scars looked softer, lessened.

Somehow, I had never been able to imagine him doing something as normal as sleeping. My chest squeezed so painfully that my hand went to it, clutching the fabric there. As if he could feel it, too, his eyes opened with a deep breath. They slid up to mine unerringly, and though it was only an instant before his face regained that sharp watchfulness I knew so well, something in it stayed soft, too. He didn’t move. He didn’t tense. His chest rose and fell calmly as we looked at one another.

I didn’t know how long we stayed like that. I had so much to say - I had planned it, spent hours running it over in my mind, dissecting it for weaknesses and revising it, preparing for the arguments he would make. None of it would come now. I was afraid. I was afraid because however this went, there would be no going back.

He sat up, and the blankets slid from his torso, revealing a bare chest. He propped himself up with one hand, and again we simply stared in silence. An odd sense of rightness was pricking at me, but it felt so alien, I thought for certain it must be coming from him.

He made to rise from the bed, and when the cover fell to his hips and I saw nothing there, I quickly turned away. I felt a ripple of amusement, distant and so small. It was as if he were an ocean, and a normal feeling like amusement no more than a single drop of water in its vast surface.

I heard his footsteps, then the creak of a chair. I looked over to find him sitting in the dark at a small desk, simple and well-worn, lit from behind and low to the ground. He wasn’t at the palace. He hadn’t bothered to put any clothes on, either.

As I watched, he leaned forward and twined his fingers together. I followed the graceful movement as if in a trance, eager for anything that would put this off even a moment longer.

“Have you decided?” he asked in a detached tone. It was silk and rough wool and bitter tea, citrus and night air over undisturbed snow.

Like the bite of a cane, his voice set everything into sharp focus. Why I was here, how careful I had to be, how much depended on it. How horribly it could go wrong, and how I could not let it. I took a deep breath and let my eyes slide up to his. They were fixed on my face, quiet and watchful.

“You told me once that you wished there was another option.”

He waited, inscrutable. But because I knew him now, I could see the calculation already in motion. He was waiting to see what I had to say, what I would give him to work with. What he would have to twist and where he might apply pressure.

I leaned back against one of the posters at the foot of the bed and crossed my arms comfortably. “You don’t need me anymore, you know,” I said lightly. “I’m sure you’ve realized it. You can enter the Fold any time you want.”

“Is it wise to open with how expendable you are?”

“That’s my point, actually. You haven’t been risking the hundreds of years you’ve worked and bided your time because you need me. You haven’t been risking your plans or Ravka’s future because I’m vital to either of them. You’re chasing me because you _want_ me. You want me so much that you will burn the world if that’s what it takes. So before we go any further, I’d like us to stop pretending this is about anything other than that.” I glanced down to the center of his chest pointedly, then back up to his face.

He looked tight as a bowstring, and I could feel it between my lungs.

_I seem to be a victim of my own wishes where you are concerned._

“You don’t need to be angry.” I murmured, surprisingly gentle. “You know why I’m here. You’re too smart not to. It isn’t to play with you. It isn’t because I don’t have the will to keep fighting you.” Only a small part of it was a lie, and not an important one. Not now.

Like a whisper along a nerve I could feel the control it took to keep himself seated, and it was a heady thing. _Wanting makes us weak._ If it was the only real advantage I could have over him right now, I would make it count.

“What is it you’re after, Alina?” That he kept the tightness out of his voice was remarkable. But I knew that whether he showed it or not, he felt it all the same. For a long time, I had wondered.

“To propose that alternative. Because the truth is that right now, there’s really only one thing keeping me from you. You.” His face twisted, but it was buried just as fast as everything else he hid. I knew what he thought: Mal. I went on as if I hadn’t seen it. “Your plans. Not your goals,” I clarified, “not anymore. I can’t....” I paused. “I wish I had months to think about this, to come up with a better way. I can’t deny that peace is a dream I never thought any of us would see. But what I find strange is that as clever as you are, you actually thought this was going to work.”

“It’s working very well so far. Considering the mess you left behind.”

I hid a flash of hot anger. “Is it?” I asked.

He gave no overt response, so I went on. “Or maybe that’s why you do think it will work. You’ll use whatever is at your disposal, and you know how effective fear can be,” I said. I thinking of my last days at the White Cathedral. “I’ve seen it.”

I felt a pang in the back of my chest. The way Baghra had spoken of him, the way he had spoken of his childhood, I wondered what kind of boy he must have been. “I think you wanted to help in the beginning," I said. "I do. That’s what you still tell yourself you’re doing, isn’t it?

“A desire like that doesn’t come from a bad heart, or a selfish one. People aren’t born hard. But you weren’t a Sun Summoner,” I said quietly. He didn't react, but I knew immediately that I had hit an old wound. “People didn’t want what you were, did they? What you had to give. Your intentions didn’t matter, because all they saw was what you were, not who you were. You had to force them to see your value. Never half measures, never wasting time asking. There was no one to make you a Saint, no one lifting you up, saying you would be a hero. There was no one to convince people that darkness isn’t something evil.”

I wondered if he had bothered to hate me for how easy it must seem.

“So you used what was at your disposal,” I repeated slowly. “What wasn’t denied to you because of how you were seen. You _used_ how you were seen,” I guessed. “You used your cleverness and you learned to leverage loyalty through fear. I’m sure you know how to use reward, too.” I shrugged. “All those Grisha wouldn’t have followed you when you left otherwise. You’re good at all of it, you have to be.

“You created the Second Army out of nothing. You made yourself the second most powerful man in the country, and you held onto that even after you rent her in two with the Shadow Fold. You created a safe place for Grisha in a world where there was none.”

He stayed quiet and watchful. There was no judgement, not yet, only waiting.

“I have to believe you understand that what you want from me,” I said earnestly, “what you really want, can’t be taken. That you know it doesn’t mean anything unless it’s freely given.” I paused, then added quietly, “That’s exactly what I’m here to do. If you can show me... Aleksander,” something close to a shudder passed over him, and for a moment, his eyelids nearly fluttered closed, “if you can _show_ me that not everything was a lie. That you know the difference between getting me and having me. Keeping me and holding me captive.

“If you will do that,” I said seriously, “I will walk back to Os Alta barefoot if I have to and I will stand with you. I will help you keep these fools from eating one another alive. I will help you remember what it’s like to feel _good_ things. To be something other than cold and ruthless, to live in a world with color.”

I watched his pupils dilate. I read hunger on a face that showed nothing. I saw challenge and caution chase it. My own features were calm, but my eyes bored into his, willing him to see that I meant what I was saying. I pushed off the bedpost and walked forward to the other side of the desk. I put my hands flat on its cool, ghostly surface.

“If I’m with you,” I said slowly, “really with you, you have options you’ve never had.” I stood and looked down at him. The way he held himself, even sitting like this, he seemed six feet tall. He didn’t even bother to tilt his chin up to look at me. “What if, for instance, instead of manipulating people, instead of using their fear,” I paused, holding his gaze, “you could inspire them? What if instead of forcing them to do what you command, they believed in you and gave what you wanted freely, and more? What if instead of fighting you, they worked on your behalf to support you in ways we can’t even think of without even being asked?”

He didn’t respond. But oh, I had his attention.

Carefully and calmly, I said, “Step away from the throne.”

I saw the shutter slam down immediately. He pushed back from the desk - loose black trousers hung from his hips as he leaned forward and steepled his fingers on the tired wood of the desk. He gave me a long look, then I saw something cut behind his eyes that sent a trill of apprehension through me. He turned and walked a few short steps until a blur I assumed was a wall came into view. His eyes were welded to me, a mask of impassivity that I saw through completely, as he leaned back against it, giving the surface perfect clarity. The glow of a fire lit him from below and just to the side, instantly brighter and more full.

It wasn’t a wall he leaned against. It was the mantle of a fireplace, once ornate but long since worn.

The dreamlike space we occupied seemed to fall away. I couldn’t remember how to breathe.

As children, Mal and I had learned every corner of Duke Keramsov’s estate. Every room, every cubby. We knew every bit of gilt rubbed away like we knew the lines of our scars. We knew every squeaky board. The fireplace the Darkling was leaning against belonged to a room upstairs at the estate, second on the left as you came up the servant’s staircase.

He drank in my reaction like a dying man.

Mal was right. The Darkling was afraid. I had said something he hadn’t liked, and now he was paying me back, throwing a calculated tantrum. Puffing up to look big, to make me afraid. But it worked, because I knew that if he felt justified, he would do anything. Anything.

“What have you done?” My voice was hardly more than a breath.

“Nothing yet,” he said, calm and detached. “I haven’t been here long, in fact. Their hospitality has been gracious.” I doubted that. “It may interest you to know I was on my way here the day you came to me in my carriage. My plans then involved more than occupying a room. Their fates rest in your hands, Alina. Like so many others.”

There was something behind his eyes that genuinely frightened me. I pressed my teeth together and dug my nails sharply into the wood of the desk, using the pain to focus. I didn’t know if he was just threatening me, or actively trying to bait me, but it couldn’t matter either way. I could respond, I could be furious and horrified. Or I could do what I had come here to do. Not both.

The Darkling would never stop. Not with children. Not with people and places that were important to me, not with anything sacred. Certainly not with those who had turned their backs on him. And all of that was why I was here. It was why I had to remember why I was here.

I took another breath before opening my eyes, and this one trembled a little. “I was up all night, thinking. Mostly about you.” His face stayed blank and closed off, but I saw the stir there. I walked forward slowly to lean my backside against the edge of the desk facing him. I crossed my arms comfortably. It was as much to show him I could as it was an exercise of will to do it, to approach, to act so calm. But I’d had a very good example.

“I was putting some things together,” I went on, managing to sound just as placid as he had. The Darkling wanted an equal. It was time I gave him one. Something settled in at the thought, like choppy water growing still. “Things I’ve been picking up pieces of for a long time now. I was thinking about what you want. From me, from the world. I was thinking about what I can live with. What I want, even,” I said quietly. The truth was, I didn’t know what that even meant anymore.

“We’ve spent so much time talking in circles. Running, hunting, being angry and bitter, wanting, warring with ourselves. Betraying, hurting.... I’ve fought this thing between us with everything I have, for a dozen different reasons. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to feel anything toward you but hatred, but it’s there whether I admit it or not. If we don’t stop, all we’re going to do is crush the world between us.” At his look, I give a quiet, breathy laugh. “Oh, I know. I know. You are ancient in your wisdom and power and experience.” I pause. “But I am an apt pupil.” It was satisfying, turning his words against him. So was the plain anger that flushed over his features.

“That isn’t a threat,” I said conversationally. “But I don’t see a reason to lie. Did you anticipate how quickly I would learn? I didn’t. Did you guess how fast I would find the eddies in my power? It has been a matter of months, and I’m fairly certain I could tear down an entire army by myself. Would you like to know how easy it was to kill every one of your soldiers in the hangar at the Spinning Wheel? It took seconds. Taking the tops off of two mountains at once was almost as effortless.”

I let my eyes rove the washed out, blurred colors around me. “We’re not even really Grisha, are we? Not truly. We’re something else. I don’t think the world will survive a feud between us. We’ll fight, and they’ll pay the price, those people we both claim to want to save and protect. I blame you for that. Because you won’t stop. Because you won’t let me go, because all of this is your doing, because you decided what my life was going to be hundreds of years before I was born and didn’t stop to think that I might want something else.” I wondered what he had planned if I’d been a man. I wondered if he had ever even really considered the possibility. “But in the end, what would be the point?

“So,” I said, tone going businesslike and falsely light. “If you’re willing,” I said, hiding most of my opinion at the absurdity of the idea that I really wanted is permission. But I needed his cooperation, and I needed his mind the smallest bit open. “I’d like to try something new. Right now, in this room, I am not the Sun Summoner. And you are not the Darkling. Because the very idea that this is actually about two powers discussing the fate of the world became hollow and false a long time ago.

“What I want right now is to be Alina Starkov,” I paused, “talking to Aleksander Morozova.” I felt the fire that shot through him at the sound of his name, and the force of it nearly threw me off balance. I felt the control he spent to hold himself back, to stay where he was, motionless. It helped me focus. “No more, and no less. Will you agree to that much?”

He canted his head, the motion barely perceptible, the tendons in his neck drawn, his breaths gone shallower than normal. “For now.”

I nodded and murmured, “Thank you.” I didn’t want to thank him, just like I didn’t want to ask for his cooperation. But the words had the desired effect: a shard, hair-fine, chipped away from the ice he kept around himself. I took a long breath.

“I didn’t tell you to give up the throne because I have some foolish idea that you’d abandon your plans. I said it because I have a better one.”

I might have grown impatient waiting for him to answer, had I not assumed that was part of the reason he paused so long.

“...I’m listening. For now.”

I nearly rolled my eyes, but just said, “Three things live in the memories of the people: heroes, Saints, and tyrants. Guess which one you are,” I said, allowing a dry note to enter my voice. “I’m sure you have some plan to wipe that away, after you force them to live with it. Or maybe you want to use it to your advantage. You count on time to work in your favor, but it isn’t going to, not even when you remake yourself. Because as short as their lives are, otkazat’sya have long memories. They pass their lives on to their children, and you and your ‘descendants’ will be their symbol for everything that is wrong with the world, from food shortages and rebellions to broken wagon wheels and bad crops.”

His expression hardened.

“Yes,” I hold my hands up and say before he can argue, “I know. I know you’re used to them hating you, and I know you’re enduring and clever and whatever else and I don’t give a damn because that isn’t what I’m talking about. You don’t remember what it’s like to be small, not really, and even if you did, you don’t know otkazat’sya like I do. You can’t. For as long as you passed as one of them, I _was_ one.

“You think _I_ had childish ideals? The people live and breathe fables and folklore, good and evil, right and wrong, and they aren’t as willing to change their minds in the face of new information as I am. You’re going to replace this civil war with another one, and that one won’t end. You will be fighting against your own people as long as you’re alive, and if you think you can make a fist tight enough to keep them in line without crushing every last one of them to death in the process then you are dangerously out of touch,” I said flatly. “No one likes having something forced on them.” I couldn’t help the coldness the crept into my voice at that. “That’s one I’m sure even you remember. There will always be shadows hunting you, trying to tear down what you build. And that’s just inside your own borders. Sounds like a pain in the ass to me.” And frankly, I wondered if eventually he would snap in that world.

“If you don’t believe me, consider the Shadow Fold. How many generations have passed since you created it? You know everything that happens in Ravka, so tell me the stories, how many generations and how many of your incarnations removed, that parents still teach their children about Darklings. Tell me what is still said about all Grisha because of it. And that’s in the country that doesn’t hunt us for blood and dissection and ritual murder.

“You have a taste for destiny. Has it occurred to you that we’re more than just darkness and light? That everything about us is a parallel? Your ruthlessness, my willingness to forgive. Even how we’ve been shaped. Because of otkazat’sya, you grew up hating and fearing what you were. You had to overcome that and grow hard to survive. You were weaned on the danger of them, taught because of what they had done to your mother in her own family that maybe the most important thing in the world any person can have, love, is a lie at best. That even wanting something was by its nature weakness.” I didn’t have to fake the sadness or the bitterness in my voice.

“And me? Otkazat’sya are the only reason I’m alive to have yet another argument with you. The reason I had a home for you to threaten, the reason I got an education, the reason that enough of me believes in love and is capable of trust and allowing second chances that I’m standing here trying to find some way to mend whatever insanity this is between us into something we both want. Something we _need.”_ My voice nearly cracked with the desperation of the truth behind the word.

“We are two sides of the same coin. You had a good plan. You did. It has taken power and a remarkable mind and I don’t want to think about what kind of endurance. But we’re talking about a world where it isn’t just you anymore.”

I paused, but all he did was look back, wound tighter than I had ever seen him but hiding it behind a controlled posture and a blank face. Not long ago, it would have infuriated me, but now, I saw it for what it was: a scared boy hiding behind the safety of a mask. He may be ancient, he may be lethal, but he was exactly what Mal had said: a man afraid. A person who lived and died by denying himself, keeping himself separate and alone. He was terrifying and ruthless. He needed me. I had become his obsession. He was hungry, he was tired, he was wary and eager in turns.

My voice softened. “I hate that you’ve put me here. I hate that you’ve taken my choices away, that you’ve made it your mission to back me into a corner, to force me into a position that suits you. You hate it, too, I just wonder if you’ve realized it yet. Because if that’s how you get me, some part of you will always wonder why I’m with you.” A dark cloud passed behind his eyes, and I knew I had aimed true. “Is it because I want to be? Is it because you took my options away? I bet you tell yourself that after enough time, it won’t matter. You’ll be all I have, I’ll learn to love you. But if you have to tell yourself that, if you have to reassure yourself, then you must know better. Tell me: all those years you waited for a Sun Summoner, did you picture having to cage her until she had no option but to give in? To force her to ‘choose’ you?

“If you want there to be something real between us, and I _know_ you do,” I said, almost - almost - kindly, “you can’t keep making these same mistakes. I’ve been learning from mine. Have you?” I paused so the next part would sound less like a threat. “Your last chance to try again is right now. Right here. Because after this, it won’t mean anything. You think there’s time. You adapted, you learned to push things down, to swallow when it was the last thing you wanted to do. But I’m not you. I’m not entering eternity,” my chest constricted, “without a counterbalance, and if there has been one consistency between us, tell me it hasn’t been that I have surprised you.”

I paused again, giving him a chance to say something. He didn’t.

“I’m not asking you to stop,” I said, quieted. “I’m not asking you to turn away from what you need.” I took a steadying breath. “I’m asking you to remember. Remember who you were before the world made you hard. Remember why you wanted this, not just what you wanted. Bend. Even a little. You have to,” I said with a genuine plea on my face, “or whatever this is....” I stopped to find the words for what I wanted to say. I couldn’t. All I could do was sigh, a crease between my brows.

I wondered what might have been, if we had been born to the same world, in the same time.

I tried again. “You want balance? You want a check on your power? You want your match? Then _listen._ Because it is standing in front of you, warning you that the power you want is brittle, and it is giving you an alternative.”

I couldn’t count time as we stared at one another, his face blank night air, a distance obscured by fog, mine waiting, searching, more honest and vulnerable than I had allowed in his presence for what felt like a very long time. My breathing gradually slowed and calmed. My muscles started to relax. I hadn’t realized how tightly they’d been clenched.

Eventually, he took a breath, his lips parted, and he asked, voice low and too easy, “What is your alternative?”

I nearly sagged; a sob of relief almost broke from my throat. I couldn’t stop a sharp, strangled sort of breath from whooshing out. I gave myself a moment to find my voice, even as this took on a surreal air. I had hoped he might listen, but it seemed no part of me had truly believed that he would. He still may not - I had no illusion that listening was the same as agreeing. Maybe he only wanted to hear my idea to better plan against it. But at some point, we were both going to have to take a risk if we hoped for anything but open war.

“You’re too different from the people you want to rule. That’s problem one. Understanding them enough to keep them in line doesn’t change that. There’s too much lost in the alleys and the farms and the camps, away from the place you’ve built for yourself. You’re ancient. You’re Grisha, and they are... well, compared to that, they’re small. That’s why you can’t rule them.” I paused, bracing myself. “But Nikolai can.”

His face turned to stone.

I held a hand up and kept my voice utterly calm as I went on. “He sees people. Some have talents of the mind or body, some have talents of the Small Science, but they’re all just people to him,” I said, reminding him of an old dream, one he may have abandoned by now, but not forgotten. “And he knows how to manage them, how to get what he wants and make them think it was their idea to give it. I’ve seen it. I’ve wanted to hit him more than once for it. He’s also capable of doing whatever is necessary.” I nearly shuddered, picturing him calmly feeding a man’s fingers to a hound as he watched.

“You’ve been at the palace for some time now, you must have seen his notes, his plans, his inventions. The world is changing.” I remembered Baghra saying that to me the night I first fled the Little Palace. “The things he’s creating will put Ravka at the fore, and the most revolutionary and life-changing of them require Grisha not just to make, but to use. People, not just soldiers and nobles rich enough to afford them, but farmers and builders and merchants and travelers will have to work side by side with us, and there is no better way for us to humanize ourselves. To stop being Babayka who are going to curse them with misfortune and snatch up their children in the night.

“He isn’t the last king. He isn’t his brother. He’s nothing like either of them. The throne is a means to an end to him, just like it is to you, and nothing else. He wants to fix this country and he _can.”_ My voice goes wry. “He does this mad thing where he’s only terrifying when he has to be. It’s pretty effective.”

The Darkling sighed, and it was as if he was talking to a thick toddler. “This is a waste of time. Even if he can do what needs to be done, his life will be over before either of us so much as turn around, Alina, and it’s back to square one. I have come too far to--”

I interrupted him, but not before I smiled. It was a cold, unfriendly thing. “Which is where my actual idea comes in.” My voice turned falsely light. “Who is loved and venerated more than any hero and holds more authority than any King or priest?”

It took only a moment, then his eyes narrowed.

“Say it,” I demanded. I wanted to hear it from his lips.

“A Saint,” he replied slowly. I couldn’t pick out what he was thinking, if he had gotten there already. I doubted it. He wasn't capable of understanding that at the end of the day, not everyone just wanted power. He probably thought I was going to tell him to use my so-called Sainthood.

“A Saint,” I confirmed. “Did you know they’re building shrines to the Sun Summoner in Fjerda? _Fjerda._ Where they believe us so inhuman and monstrous that they burn us so our remains can’t carry us to their afterlife.

“What I’m suggesting is that instead of leveraging what we are or working around it or wielding it like a club, we _embrace_ it. We stop trying to twist it and simply take it as it is. We embrace power and immortality. Not to frighten, not as an act of rebellion or defiance, not as an agent of change, but as acceptance. We create a place for ourselves that is so far removed from their day to day lives, from anyone’s idea of normal, that they don’t have to hate us. They don’t have to fear us. They have no reason to. We don’t have to die and come back with new faces to avoid a witch hunt. We don’t have to lurk in shadows and cracks. We, _we,”_ I emphasized, “become something different. Something new, something the world has never seen. Not a Sun Summoner and a Darkling. Not witches or monsters or demons. Living Saints. The first in history.”

His eyes narrowed as I spoke, then began, fractionally, to widen.

“We wouldn’t be subject to national boundaries or any law. We wouldn’t be beholden to any one ruler. If we let the people rule themselves, it takes all the complication out of this.” It was a struggle to keep my voice calm now. “As time passes, if one of them isn’t fit to rule, we replace them. It will be our right. Just as we would have had to depose any incompetent general or corrupt councilman if we ruled directly. It’s the same plan. We just simplify, aim higher, and remove the difficult parts. Yes, they’ll be replaced with other problems. There will always be problems. But can you imagine having the fervent support of even half the people, from monarchs to peasants to base criminals around the world literally worship you?” It was a deadly idea to plant, but I had to sell him on this. And I needed Nikolai back. I would be there every step to make sure the Darkling didn’t abuse the power.

My blood was thrumming. I didn’t know if it was our connection or something else, but I could read more from every tick, every shift. He was giving me nothing, not outwardly, but I knew he was considering my proposal, really, truly considering it. I could feel it, solid and thick as every imagined breath I took. He _wanted,_ and I played to it with everything I had.

He canted his head. “It’s a nice picture, Alina,” he said. “It is. But the people will never make me a Saint. You know that. They hate and fear everything I am.”

It wasn’t a denial, though. It was a test.

I wanted to stand up, to exercise the frenetic energy I felt, but I stayed where I was and calmly replied, “I spent time with the Apparat after I was taken from the Chapel. He held me prisoner, in fact, weak and cut off from the sun so I couldn’t recover.” I felt a flash of rage, but it didn’t come from me. I had to pause a moment before I could go on. “He’s disgusting, and I loathe everything about him. But you once told me he had his uses, and unfortunately for my desire to never see his repulsive face again, you were right. He has a prodigious skill for manipulating people in the name of faith.

“People make darkness a villain because it hides their monsters. It holds dangers they can’t see. They make it a symbol for everything frightening and dangerous in their world. I don’t have to tell you that. They venerate the sun because it grows their crops, keeps them warm, and makes them feel safe, shows them the world. And because it promises salvation from the crippling scar full of horrors you created,” I add drily. “But people don’t often really think things through, do they? They don’t look much past the surface.

I let my head tilt a little to one side. “What would happen if the darkness they so hate were to vanish, do you think? What happens when you take away the shade? The night? The warmth they love becomes hot. Crops wither, flowers and trees burn, wells dry up. What saved and nurtured now steals their children and kills their families and burns their homes and villages to ash.

“The Apparat is slime, and I loathe him almost as much as I came to hate the old King and Vasily. But given enough latitude and the proper presentation, given the way he’s able to twist things to his purpose, what do you think the chances are that he might be able to introduce a little perspective to the minds of the people?”

Something sparked in his eyes, and I knew that I had him, that he had tipped to the right side of the line, if only just. Now if I could just finish this the right way, there might be a chance.

“What do you think the chances are that instead of good and evil,” I went on, gesturing between us, “he could make us into a symbol, as a _unit,_ of the balance so necessary in life? The warmth and security of the sun and the relief and protection of the darkness?”

The Darkling had gone very, very still. I had to look closely to even see him breathing.

“He could make you into a living martyr for the scorn and fear you’ve endured, even as you toiled to serve and protect the very people who cursed your name.” I paused to let that hang in the air. “Like I said. With me, you have options you’ve never had before.” I let myself lean forward then, but I didn’t leave my perch against the desk. “How long has it been,” I said, my voice nearly a whisper, “since you entertained the thought of what you could do if the people loved you, instead of feared and hated you? Did you even let yourself wonder that as a child?”

For a moment that stretched past time, his eyes bored into mine. Then abruptly, he looked away, and I could see his mind working, combing through ages of experience, of plan and strategy, insight into Grisha and otkazat’sya alike, measuring this picture I painted up against his own realm of possibility. I could see greed and hunger.

I crossed my arms under my chest and watched him. I prayed silently until it began to feel too strange. It was an old habit, but how could I pray now when I knew that all Saints had ever been were people, born with extraordinary gifts, who were brutally murdered and _then_ venerated because of them? Usually killed for risking themselves to help the people who would slaughter them. I had to believe that wasn’t what I was trying to walk us into.

No one had ever been in the position he and I were in before. There had never been a Darkling and a Sun Summoner. And besides, if I was his foil, he was mine. If I was naive, he was hundreds of years jaded. With a jolt that felt only something like pain, I realized that we truly filled in one another’s gaps, weaknesses. For the first time, I wondered not just whether I could stop him from rolling over the world, but what we might accomplish if only we could find some measure of the balance I was touting as the answer to his problems.

I heard a far-away noise, muddy and muffled, and my head jerked to the side before I realized it was coming from my body. Someone was knocking on the door to my room. I glanced around, but any hope I might have of gauging the light coming from outside was hopeless in this misty place. I looked at the Darkling, but he was still deep in thought.

There was a pause back at the inn, then another knock. The third was louder and insistent, and after a moment, the lock clicked open and I heard footfalls. I tensed as I felt hands shaking me, gently at first, then more roughly. When I wouldn’t wake, whoever it was ran from the room.

A bare instant later there was a clattering of footfalls as more people spilled into the little space. Someone tried again to wake me.

“Alina,” Mal said gently. He hesitated, then turned to the others and said, “I think she’s talking to him. The Darkling.” His voice was tight, but not afraid. “She was like this in the woods outside the mine. She said she can hear us and feel us like she’s here, but her mind is somewhere else. Kind of like a daydream.”

“That’s not creepy,” Zoya said sarcastically. “But what is she doing?” There was a pause. “I mean,” she said, sounding annoyed, “wouldn’t she talk to us if she’d made a decision?” She paused. “And why go in the middle of the night?” The note her voice took set me on edge.

There was quiet, then Mal said, “She wouldn’t necessarily talk to us first.” I heard what he didn’t say: _Not if she’s planning something stupid._

“She doesn’t have to tell us anything,” Tolya rumbled. “Not really. She knows him better than we do.”

Someone loosed a disdainful puff of air.

“No,” Harshaw said. He sounded speculative. I felt a thud on my chest and four tiny paws moving as a little nose sniffed at my chin. “But she usually doe--"

My attention was yanked back to the hazy space in Keramzin - the Darkling pushed away from the fireplace and closed the distance between us. He stopped less than a foot away, and the feeling in the air changed, like a charge was lancing along the tether between us. I felt licks of tension against skin that wasn’t real.

“Is this a trick, Alina?” He asked. His voice was quiet and unreadable. It was almost light.

“Pretty stupid trick if it was,” I said automatically. Then I held his gaze a moment before I replied, my voice quieting to match his, “Tell me you wouldn’t feel it.”

The mask he wore was more impenetrable than I had ever seen, and for the first time in a long while, I couldn’t even guess what he was thinking or feeling.

“Why are you here?” He asked.

“I thought I’d made that fairly clear,” I said wryly. For just a moment, it was like I was back at the Little Palace, talking to him before I had known anything.

“That isn’t what I mean.”

“Maybe if you want a satisfying answer you shouldn’t ask a vague question,” I half-snapped, remembering all the times he had infuriated me with that very thing as he haunted me at the Little Palace.

For a moment, he looked almost satisfied. I wanted to hit him. Then he put his arms out and steepled his fingers on the desk on either side of me. He wasn’t touching me, but he was so close I would swear I could feel him all the same. “I want to know if you mean this. Every word. The reason you came.” He paused. “There is no going back from here. There will be no turning away, Alina. I won’t allow it.”

I bristled, and only hid most of it. We looked at one another, and it felt like a duel. Then I huffed, breaking it into ash. I gripped his jaw with a feather touch. “Do one thing for me. And I’m not talking about all of this, what I’ve been saying. That’s for everyone else. For the future. Do something for _me.”_

He waited.

“...Don’t ever make me regret this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Babayka = Boogeymen. Technically a version of Baba Yaga, old hag women that take the place of boogeymen in Russian lore. Or so the internet tells me.
> 
> Note the double update. The chapter was humongous, so I had to break it into two.
> 
> \- - - - -
> 
> 4/12/18: Style tweaks


	21. Hope

He paused. “I haven’t agreed yet.” His voice went low and silken, and despite everything, despite the seriousness of this, it rolled through me like the crash of floodwater.

I felt someone pick me up back at the boarding house. We had planned on leaving today, and it seemed they weren’t going to wait any longer. They were moving out whether I was awake or not.

“And I haven’t told you my terms,” I replied. “But we’re both still here. I’m going to take that as a good sign.” I was nearly whispering by the end, but my voice was steady. It felt if I spoke any louder, it would disturb some great beast that was crouched between us, waiting with bared teeth and a twitching tail.

I wasn’t sure who leaned in first, if it was one of us or both of us, but our lips met, and a ripple of power went over me like fire, like I was physically there with him, skin on skin, feeling that door between us open. The bite on my shoulder tugged.

It was hungrier than any kiss we had shared. It was heavier, louder, insistent. It was the start of something. And I didn’t want it to stop. I knew there was a voice in my head, already small and distant, telling me what a foolish idea it was. Like he had said, he hadn’t agreed. Like I had said, I hadn’t even given my conditions. But as my fingers found his and my nails dug in roughly, half in question and half in answer, I tipped over a line, too. I could only hope there was a space in the middle where we could meet.

He pulled back far too soon, and I felt like I had had far too much wine. I could feel it on my face, the way I could hardly open my eyes, the heat already in my cheeks.

He was an inch away. His breath spanned over my face when he said, his voice rough, “I won’t.”

He fell on me like a man starving.The voice in the back of my head went resoundingly silent. His tongue was in my mouth instantly, and he turned his palms up and pushed his fingers between mine, gripping as if to crack bone. I had to meet his force, or it would have crushed my hands. It wasn’t difficult. My chest arched forward and my hips angled, and he pushed in until I ended up sitting on the desk.

He released my hands and his fingers dug instead into my thighs, then slid upward. One hand found its way to the back of my neck and gripped almost painfully, urging my head back and holding my mouth to his as he stepped closer. I couldn’t tell if it was my own heart thudding in my chest, or if I was somehow feeling his. I had done things with others, but I had never felt as if my edges were blurring, as if I was coming apart, as if I was falling away, falling open. I had never felt that there would be no going back to whatever had been before.

The hand on my thigh dipped inward near my knee, urging my legs apart as it slid again upward. I felt a trill of something distant - not quite panic, not quite fear, but it was nothing because my legs were already opening and he was already stepping between them, his hands going to the small of my waist and anchoring, pulling me into him and it was where he _belonged._

I hitched my legs up and wrapped them around his waist, pulling a gut-twisting sound from him, somewhere between a groan and a growl. I felt brutal savageness in myself, something that lived in the place that had wanted to see a black-haired woman afraid and groveling, to throw a blind old woman out in the snow for denying me; the Darkling was here, close, between my thighs, and he would go _nowhere._

Ferocious possessiveness welled up, threatening to spill over, the way I had come within half an inch of murdering a boy in red who had argued too long. I couldn’t have known or cared who the feeling came from. Because it could have been him. This wasn’t a feeling leaking through here and there, a vague shadow or a pinched burst. We were devouring one another, clawing at one another, and it was changing something. But that sat at the back, out of mind, like a fly buzzing around your head when you’re in the middle of a battle. Part of me knew it was there, registered it.

And I didn’t give a shit.

He was already more than half hard, and if the moan that rumbled in my throat was more smug or pleased, I couldn’t have said. I rolled my hips into him, pushing myself hard into his cock, rolling it up and over my clit. There was a hunger, feral and impatient and demanding, and I didn’t know if that was mine or his, either, and it didn’t matter.

He groaned again and his hands slid down to my ass, gripping and pulling me harder into his hardness. His fingers dug in, holding me there as I ground against him without meaning to. But it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t close enough, and as if he had the same thought at the same moment, he yanked me forward to the bare edge of the desk, his hands under my thighs and their grip on him the only things that kept me from falling to the floor.

His lips left mine but didn’t once break contact with my skin. They trailed down, his tongue dipping out to taste me, possessive, edacious, his teeth grazing and nipping along my jaw, down my neck. He bit down on my windpipe with a gutteral, primal sort of rumble. He licked and kissed and sucked and nipped a trail down to the hollow at the base of my throat, along my collarbone and shoulder, his fingers digging into me the whole time like claws of iron, as if he wanted to bruise to prove that he’d been there. He was breathing something, words, but I couldn’t make out what. I thought maybe they were Old Ravkan. When I tried to ask, he bit down on my shoulder and rolled his cock into me _hard,_ and I forgot the question.

A memory flitted through my head of him kissing me by the lake when I had asked a question he hadn’t wanted to answer.

It didn’t matter. He was mine. And I had time.

When he couldn’t pull the collar of my shirt aside any further, he yanked it up roughly out of my pants. His hands slid up underneath, fingers splayed, with a satisfied, quavering exhale to run over my skin as if he needed to know every inch of it, now. He ran his palms up over my stomach and I arched into them as he used his weight to pin me back to lay on the desk, his mouth welded to mine. He wanted to feel the length of me. His hips rolled where they rested between my thighs, pushing his cock hard into my core. When he found no breastband in place around my chest, he groaned. The muscles of his back went iron under my fingertips, under short nails fighting to dig into his skin, and his thumbs ran up and over stiffly-peaked nipples.

We panted out hot breaths and they mingled between us. Distantly, so far away, I felt my body being jostled.

My legs tightened around his hips and I groaned; he pulled back just long enough to yank my shirt up over my head and throw it away. My nails dug into the muscles of his chest and when he leaned back in, I reached for his trousers, frantically searching for laces. I found them and pulled them loose as he tugged at mine, but I couldn’t lean forward, I didn’t have the reach to get them down and I growled in desperate, angry frustration.

He _yanked_ my own trousers down off my hips, then dropped his own. His hand snaked between my thighs and he slid a finger between my lips and exhaled a groan. It was almost like a plea, and somehow, almost like a warning. I was smooth, liquid satin all around his finger, and he was painfully hard. My back arched at the sensation, and I hissed as he moved his finger up and down, spreading the wetness.

In an instant, he positioned it at my entrance. My eyes went wide and I felt a jolt of panic. “Wai--” I protested, but he slipped it in and found no resistance. I felt no pain, no pinch, no stretch, and looked up at him in shock.

“It isn’t real,” he said. No, ground out, husky and cracked. His voice was like a tumbler full of stones.

He pulled back and his finger slipped back out, leaving me feeling an ache I didn’t fully understand. I had had orgasms before. I knew what it felt like when they crashed in from nowhere, I knew the feel of them building, I knew how it felt when they crested and retreated like a tide before finally spilling over. This wasn’t like those feelings. I just knew that I felt... empty. Voracious and desperate. I felt _need_ \- I needed him inside of me. I needed it like I had never needed anything before, so much that I tried to hook my legs around his thighs and yank him closer to force him, to hurry him, despite the barrier of my trousers.

He paused just long enough to free one of my legs from my pants, leaving them hanging from the other and using the excuse to dip back down and bury his face in my neck.

I was everywhere around him - my scent, my skin, my breaths, sounds he knew I didn’t realize I was making. And he was gone. Lost. Control was an idea finally crumbled - I had been chipping away at it almost from the beginning and he had _hated_ it.

It didn’t matter now. I was here, and I was his. Finally, finally his, only his. Forever.

He was whole. After so many centuries of waiting, he was whole. And the world was ours.

He hoisted me up against him. His shaft pressed between up my folds and anything left of my mind vanished. My back arched, leveraging my weight to push my hips into his cock. My throat worked, loosing sound after sound, dry and aching, guttural and animal and mindless, but I caught one word, over and over: “Please.”

His strong hands splayed around my thighs and he walked to the bed like that. He half threw me down onto my back and in one perfect, fluid motion, he bent over me, took himself in hand, and pushed hard into me all at once, until we were nothing but skin flush against skin.

The world exploded into white.

I cried out, nearly a scream. The sudden feeling of fullness, of being whole, the perfect stretch and pressure, there were no words for it.

I had thought I’d had a home in Mal, and I had. Truly. But this was something else. This was _belonging._

Then all I knew was that I was clawing at his back as it flexed over me, at the muscles of his ass as they worked against me, and he pumped in and out, fast and hard and desperate. My name was on his lips.

It was right that it should be.

I felt like I lived outside of myself, in coiled muscle and thrusting hips, in grunts and hot skin that wasn’t mine, that tasted of salt and cool night air. I was the panting breaths against my neck, the perfect, perfect unbroken contact of skin on skin where he pressed down atop me with his whole body, like he wanted to keep me there by force. As if he would need to. But it wasn’t just that. He needed the unbroken contact, the touch, just like I did.

I felt an echo. I felt him, feeling me feeling all if this. I was me, but I was also him, and he was just as inside my skin as I was his. He lived outside of himself, too, the doors between us flung wide, and I felt as if I was falling off a cliff, tumbling end over end, disoriented and dizzy, because reality was blurred and trembling, shaking. Nothing would ever close those doors again.

I should care. But the thought was a drunken musing, there and gone as quickly as his next thrust into me. How can you remember anything when the world is suddenly so small and so infinite and utterly, completely whole? How can you remember when you are dying and coming to life at the same time?

His hips rolled and bucked and I gripped his jaw in my hands, taking his mouth again, my nails raking his scalp as I sank them into his hair. It was unbound. When had that happened? Who had loosed it?

He repositioned my legs and changed the angle of first my hips, then his, and suddenly every thrust had him rubbing against my clit, butting and rolling into it over and over. I sparked and burned, I spread my legs wider and bit into his shoulder because I was approaching some new peak. I was afraid, but I would have literally murdered anyone or anything that made him so much as stutter.

I felt him feel it, that climb, that gathering storm, and he held himself steady, hard thrusts in and out, deep and shallow, flesh slapping loudly, the angle perfect and unchanging. He kept a hand on one of my knees, holding it at the right angle and I was so, so full. He urged me, encouraged me wordlessly, _demanded_ from me to go as high as him, to match him, to find him in this and--

It rolled over me with the revelation of the first time I’d ever used my power. It broke through me like that extra reserve and depth I’d always held back when it screamed to life for the first time. It was a roil of heat and perfect ice and a thousand, million strikes of lighting all at once. I screamed and arched and the air around me burned as if suddenly scorching.

He snaked an arm under me, holding me clamped to him, holding me steady, keeping up his pace until it had crested through me. It seemed to go on forever. He slowed only slightly when it was done - he could do no more than that. Tremors ran over me, shaking my whole body. I couldn’t help them. Hair was plastered to my face with sweat. How long had it been like that?

I was liquid and limp, gone so far away that I barely felt him shift us. He freed my leg of the dangling trousers, then pulled me up onto the bed fully and sat me atop him. His legs were under him and was behind me, sitting up. He brought my back against his chest - it was so wet and cold and hot and _perfect_ \- and parted my legs over his.

He pushed hard back into me, effortless with how wet I was and something else, something new, as if my body had shaped to his. Both arms clamped down around my torso and held me to him as he thrust in and out at a frantic speed. I couldn’t have moved or even shifted a millimeter if I’d wanted to - I was too weak to even meet his thrusts, to angle my hips. I could only let my head fall back against his shoulder.

He held me suspended just enough that he could pound into me, bruising, relentless, keeping me locked against him. The noise of our flesh slapping together was obscene.

“Alina,” he breathed. “Alina, say it.”

 _Where does your loyalty lie?_ He had asked me that when I had faced him in the Chapel on Nikolai’s poisoned birthday. He was asking it again now.

I growled, instantly awake, and yanked myself away from him, then spun around and shoved him to his back on the worn blanket. I was over him before he could move, straddling his hips, our skin shining with sweat. Hair was stuck to his face, too, perfect, shining ebony strands. He was so beautiful. And I was so angry.

I ground against him viciously, his cock trapped against his stomach and held between my slick, wet folds. “Arrogant,” I growled, then lifted my hips and slammed myself down on his cock.

For a moment I was lost, nerves come alive with paralyzing explosiveness, spreading from my opening down and up and out in an instant, just because he was inside of me again. Perfect. It was perfect. But I didn’t know how to move like this, and in my frustration I dug my nails hard into his skin and half bared my teeth. His hands found my hips and pulled, then pushed, rolling them, encouraging a rocking motion. I caught on quickly.

I clawed his hands from me and leaned forward, pinning them to the bed next to his sweat-soaked face. He didn’t like it. At all.

“Pompous,” I spat, my nails digging painfully into his forearms. It was as much to express months of anger and bitterness, of fear and resentment and fury as it was to gain a counterbalance against the hateful ferocity of my movements. As if I could exercise everything he had done here and now, all the cold, the hurt and pain, the cruelty.

The roll of my hips, no matter how fast, how aggressive, wasn’t enough. I pulled myself up off of him in frustration, then crashed back down. He was so, so hard, it was easy. And it was exactly what I needed; I dug my nails into the sculpted, clenched muscles of his stomach and set a furious pace. Sweat stung in my eyes. A bead of it dripped down and fell from the tip of my nose, past my quavering chin. It was like I was shivering. How long had we been doing this?

The moment his hands were freed they were back on my hips, yanking me down hard with every motion, helping me back up, encouraging me to go deeper, faster. His head tipped back, baring his pale neck, his perfect jaw. He wanted my anger, he wanted my rage. He wanted it if it meant I would keep doing what I was doing. He wanted it because... because he felt this would burn it away somehow. Exercise it. Or if not all of it, then at least enough.

“Selfish,” I growled, “manipulative, greedy, _cowar--”_

Like lightning, he sat up and clamped a hand around the back of my head, crushing our mouths together, stopping my words.

I remembered other words:

_Murderer! Monster!_

_All of those things._

Then a new voice, not a voice at all, not a memory, more of a feeling. _Yours,_ and at the same time, _Mine._ As if the two were the same thing.

Who thought it? Who felt it? Had one of us said it?

It was as though this were a picture of the future rather than something happening now - he would give himself to me, only to me, the only person who would ever be good enough, powerful enough, who could ever understand him. But his price was total ownership of me, in turn.

_You have been mine since the moment you were born._

He would have the admission from my lips. Some day. He had time.

But he was already mine, and he knew it, just as I knew I belonged to him and had for some time. It was why he had been burning so. It was the birth of his anger in this. It didn’t matter how either of us had felt about it before or how we would feel once this madness here and now had ended and reality returned.

Reality could burn to perdition for all I cared.

It would not be a lie when the people were told that we were one.

The Darkling, my Darkling, my Aleksander, buried himself in me with an upward thrust of his hips that lifted me from the mattress. So fast I had no chance to argue, he used my loss of balance to flip me to my back and pinned my arms next to my head by the wrists. He began pounding so hard into me that the bed protested loudly. He twined our fingers together and clamped down on my hands like he wanted to break them. Still I wanted more. Sweat dripped down his brow, down the perfect line of his nose, to deposit on my cheek as he leaned in to kiss me again, tongue dipping straight into my mouth.

We were souls, ancient and new, darkened both, supple and brittle, and everything we were demanded closer. More. As if we could share a single body if only we tried hard enough. As if we already did.

He grunted and panted, soft sounds over and over. I couldn’t tell if I was sobbing or crying out and it began to build again, that pressure. But... not mine. It felt different. This was in the base of my... of _his_ spine.

“Look at me, Alina,” he growled. “Look at me.”

I tried, I did, but the sensation. It took me more than one attempt to get out just two words, so breathy they barely qualified: “I can’t.”

He leaned forward and buried his face in my neck. He was out of breath, out of voice, and I could feel that compression of sensation, that heat that wasn’t heat building and building, but now it was in my belly, too. I was sure some of it was mine this time.

“Come with me. You have to-- I need--” He gritted his teeth and grunted in effort, holding himself back.

He did have some control left, then.

I wanted to decimate it.

I changed the angle of my hips, bringing them up off the bed and baring my entrance to him fully, thrusting against him for every hard, furious, almost brutal snap of his hips. The pressure curling up his spine spilled into me-- He _pushed_ it, urged it along what I had once thought of as a tether, but now seemed as open and vast as the sky itself. He demanded, and I wanted to pull back, to have this victory--

But I tipped just too far, begun to topple over the edge, and there was no coming back. We fell together, crashed, shattered to glittering dust, and it wasn’t like the last time, it was somehow, impossibly, more. There was the flash of heat again and I knew I was feeling him come apart just as much as I was feeling it in myself, flesh bursting open in the face of something it couldn’t contain. The whole thing mixed together into something that had never been, something unique in all the world, something that could never be explained or understood by anyone else. Just like the Darkling and I.

We came down slowly. We remembered we had limbs, then bodies. We remembered there were things outside of us - a mattress, air. We lay panting, him collapsed on me fully, nearly crushing me. Except for his chest - he held just enough of its weight that I could breathe. That wasn’t the right word for it, though. I sucked in so much air, so fast, over and over that there was almost a wheezing sound. My body was quaking, spasming with rolling tremors, and I realized a bright light was fading from the space around us. His face was buried in my neck. He wanted to kiss it. He didn’t have the energy.

Finally he fell away. A noise almost like a keen vibrated in my throat when he pulled out of me, but then he was at my side, pulling me in and curling around me like an overgrown cat. As his strength returned, he began to clutch too tightly. I buried my face in the skin of his throat and let him. I understood. I understood as if I had walked centuries alone. Eventually I realized my own fingers ached from how hard they were holding on to him.

Our breathing slowed and evened, our sweat cooled, and he put a hand to my hair, brushing locks from my face that were so soaked with sweat, hardened and glued against my skin, that they almost crackled when pushed away.

“Come back,” he breathed.

I looked up at him for the first time. We still lay facing each other, wrapped in one another. I felt my expression turn sad. “I hope I can,” I whispered back.

I felt him go hard, like a thick steel door slamming into place, even before it could show on his face. But it didn’t come quite as fast has it had before. “Don’t,” I hushed. “I didn’t mean it like that.” I was reassuring him, and I wondered how I would feel about that when this was over, this high gone, the world returned to normal. I didn’t want it to return to normal.

He pulled his hand away, and I put my own against his face, stroking his cheek over and over with my thumb, feeling the grit of dried sweat against his perfect, pale skin. “The world is between us,” I murmured. “We have to work all of this out.” I felt a stirring in him, and it made my own anger crack open an eyelid where it was coiled in me, content and slumbering. He wondered if this had all been a manipulation.

“Don’t you dare,” I said, a hard note entering my voice. It was so raw that it cracked a little, and my throat felt raspy and overused. My fingers dug into him where they rested against his face, only just to the right side of gentle. “You were with me the whole time. You know what this was.” I paused a long moment, and my eyes fell. “And you were right,” I admitted quietly. “There is no going back.”

He was quiet, then, until he leaned in and gently pressed his lips to my forehead. In the way of every other bizarre, impossible thing that had just happened, I somehow knew his eyes were closed.

I let myself savor the feeling, but only for a moment. “We aren’t just two people,” I said when he began to pull back. “We can’t just come together because we want to.”

He wanted to argue. He didn’t. Right here, right now, he was as changed as I was. I wondered how much of it would hold. For either of us.

I leaned in and rested my forehead against his, pressing my eyes shut. “Promise me,” I uttered. “Promise me you’ll try.” I pulled back just enough to look at him. Cold chips of silver, like diamond, were in the pale grays of his eyes. Dark, perfect granate, like a cliffside wet with rain, ringed his pupils, and lashes black as his hair framed his eyes.

“Promise me you’ll listen.” I wasn’t asking him to do as I said. I was asking him to hear me out, to really, truly consider what I had to say. I had told him, a counterbalance would be pointless if he didn’t listen to it.

At the speed of thought, my intent crossed that open space, and I felt his understanding in turn. No. It didn’t cross anything. It didn’t have to, because we were that same open space.

I had to go. I couldn’t stay away from the others any longer. He nearly argued, but then of course if I didn’t leave, I couldn’t really, truly come back.

He reached a hand out and traced the lines of my face. My brows, my cheekbones and lips, the plane of my forehead and the soft angle of my nose and jaw. He touched me like I was something precious, like I was still that equation that didn’t quite tally.

“Say it one more time.” _My name._

I smiled, a quirk at one side of my lips, a wrinkling of my eyes. It wasn’t a happy thing, I didn’t think.

I leaned in again, and in the instant before I kissed his brow, I whispered it to him: “Aleksander.”

Then I was gone, leaving him in an empty room, with the prayer he wouldn’t change his mind and burn it to the ground.

The Darkling wouldn’t have. Not yet. Not while it was still useful as a bargaining chip. But it wasn’t exactly, precisely, the Darkling I was leaving behind.

And who, now, was I?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: I've read this again. 
> 
> ...It needs work. But it probably won't get it for a while.  
> -  
> The fact that this is so late has much less to do with quality control than you might think. My reason is good, but beside the point now that we’re here. Besides... I’ll be honest, I’m not exactly fearing a lot of complaints after that. *points up*. I wouldn’t even if this didn’t have the best group of readers on this site.
> 
> Future chapters will take a long time. Not three months, though. Not unless health or what have you.  
> -  
> No joke, the whole time I was writing the last scene, I kept picturing someone walking in on the Darkling and what it would look like to them, and how they would just sloooooowly back away, and you guys I was DYING.  
> -  
> I had to let go of the fact that I really didn't see Alina saying stuff like “cock” and “clit” and what have you, since the entire trilogy is narrated from her POV. That's part of what the canon-level/PG-13 version is for.  
> -  
> Apparently Tumblr is a thing you do when you write here. I have one now with an [ask/prompt box.](https://ahab2631.tumblr.com/ask)  
> 


	22. Chapter 22

As soon as I was back in my body, I realized I was wet. I was on the ground, and my hair was dripping, my clothing was stuck to my shoulders, and someone was rubbing my arm with a piece of cloth, wringing the water from the fabric. It froze when I opened my eyes.

It was Mal. The instant I saw him, something snapped in me like a branch under sudden weight. I sucked in a breath and tried to sit up, but he stopped me with a gentle hand above my chest.

I felt an answering treble where the tether had once been. It wasn’t a tether anymore, though. It was a cable, a vast sinkhole in my chest, as if I’d been blown through by cannonfire. I hadn’t reached out to the Darkling, I hadn’t done anything, and still, he was there, answering and asking.

I felt that echo again, feeling him feeling everything, almost like I was both of us at once. On top of the confusion, the sudden pain, the brunt of whatever I was feeling, the weariness, it was disorienting. He felt every emotion. Not just that, but the places between emotions, everything half considered and then discarded, faster than the mind could follow.

I cut him off abruptly. I did it before he could feel the pang of regret.

“Easy,” Mal said quietly, pulling me back into my own skin. “Easy, Alina. You’re safe. We’re all safe.”

A shout went up and bodies crowded in. All of them seemed to have questions. Mal held an arm out and told them to back up. “Give her space.” He ordered.

I was on a litter of some kind - that must have been the jostling I’d felt - and I slowly pushed myself up to sit.

“Why am I wet?” I asked.

Mal’s lips twisted on one side in a disapproving sort of way. “Someone had the bright idea they could shock you awake. I told her it wouldn’t work.”

“You also told them I was fine.”

“You heard that?” Nadia asked.

I looked over. We were in a small clearing in what felt like deep woods, under the full light of the sun. Everyone was arrayed in a loose circle around Mal and me. They looked ragged. But no Sergei, I noticed.

“Of course I did,” I groused. “He told you I could hear everything.” I shook my arms out as if I could shed the water and made a disgruntled noise. “Whoever _she_ is, she should have listened. Where’s a Tidemaker when you need one?”

“With the Darkling,” I heard Zoya say flatly.

“Or dead,” Harshaw added conversationally.

“He also told us you could _feel_ everything,” Tolya said.

 _Don’t flush, don’t flush,_ I prayed silently. “Right. Well. We were discussing terms and it got...” I felt my brows draw together, “heated.”

“What happened to the plan?” Nadia asked.

“Nevermind that,” Zoya said. “We just had to drag you through the woods half the day, and you weigh far too much for someone so small. Tell us--”

“You didn’t touch the litter once,” Ruslan pointed out.

“--you have good news.”

Half the day? Truly? I recalled sweat and trembling, and wondering how long the Darkling and I had been-- I jolted myself back to the here and now.

“Enough questions,” Mal said. His tone brooked no argument. When I looked up at him, a little dazed, he was calm, but there was something strange in the way he was watching me. It was like we were alone in a small room, like there was no one else here. I felt meadows under my feet and sun on my face. I smelled pine, laughter echoed from almost twenty years away.

“It’s ok,” I said slowly. “I think...” I whispered haltingly, uncertainly, “I think maybe everything has changed.”

When I had left the Darkling, when I had come back here, I had felt whole. I thought I’d never felt that way before, but now I knew I had. I’d felt it in small moments. I had felt great swaths of it with Mal at the Little Palace, before everything had gone so wrong. It was just that now, I felt it in a way no one else ever could, or would, be able to.

I was in the woods on the run, dirty and hungry and trying to figure out how to turn ten people into an army if this went wrong, but that feeling of belonging still saturated me, deep and calm and sure.

Or it had, until I had seen Mal. Because as anger lashed against the other side of my wall, I felt something else, too. Another thread, both familiar and new. It was nothing like whatever tied me to the Darkling. It was more fine, but it was its own universe, nearly as vast as the tether in its way, and it had not diminished in the face of this new thing.

When I looked up into Mal’s bright blue eyes, I saw it there, tying us together as surely as it ever had.

Suddenly I had to look away from him, because with the reality of how deep our connection went came the understanding that there was no way this story would end well. The best I could hope for was to never see him again. The Darkling would not cede all this ground just to get me. He would want something, too. And there would be nothing I could trade or barter for this, for Mal.

I felt a great fissure open up in me. I felt my face crumple and shatter. I felt confusion and pain, and then suddenly, it was interrupted.

“Alina,” a cool, angry voice called from in front of me.

My eyes slipped closed. “Did you not get that I wanted some privacy when I cut you off?” I snapped, unable to hide a little quaver at the beginning. I turned my face up to glare at the Darkling. He stood near my feet, inside my circle of friends.

All he was wearing were those soft black trousers. That time, I did feel my face color.

The others tensed. All except for Mal. He stayed where he was, crouched next to me on the ground, watching me closely. When I glanced at him, I saw the smallest crease between his brows.

“There is no such thing anymore,” the Darkling said. “Not for you.” He pushed against the inside of me pointedly. “Did you really think otherwise?”

I shoved back and pushed to my feet. Mal followed, cool and graceful. “You mean for _us?,”_ I hissed. “I don’t accept that.”

“You have a habit of fighting the truth. You might learn to save yourself the trouble sooner rather than later. There was a time you didn’t accept me.”

I felt it, then. There had been a little trill of panic in him at what I’d felt when I had come back to my body. At trying to slam the wall closed the way I had. It was well buried and even better controlled, a fear that everything that had just happened between us had been some kind of a ploy, a distraction maybe, and now that it was done, I was leaving him. It made no sense. He knew that, but he still felt it. Just like that night in the Queen’s sitting room, he didn’t know what to do with it. So he simply got angry.

_Those are the actions of a man afraid._

“Who says I do now?” I jabbed snidely. Hollowly.

He sighed. “Tell me your terms.”

I nearly recoiled. “What? Now?”

Angry hunger shot through him. Hunger to have me at his side, hunger to have this over, hunger to know what I felt like beneath him in the flesh. Hunger for his plans to finally be seen through. “Am I interrupting something important?” He replied, droll.

I considered. We were both more malleable right now, after... what had happened. On the one hand, that made him more likely to bend. On the other, it meant the same for me. He had hundreds of years of experience stepping back, seeing objectively, playing five moves ahead. But we were on even ground in at least one way, now: neither of us had ever been through this. And I knew much better than he did what it was to care for someone. I knew its currents and eddies, where it would help you and where it could make you stumble.

In other words, now might be the best chance I was going to get.

Without warning, Mal slipped his hand into mine. In a panic I tried to yank it away, but he locked our fingers together in an iron grip and looked right at the Darkling.

His eyes snapped to Mal, then trailed down to our linked hands. A smile, sharp as the point of a needle, spread over his lips as he looked back up at Mal’s face. It was an echo of what had happened when he had found us in Cofton. And it was nothing like what had happened when he had found us in Cofton. It promised blood and pain.

The Darkling _loathed_ Mal. I felt it like a cancer, like a searing coal buried in my chest.

“She’s been with you for over twelve hours,” Mal said calmly. “Let her rest.”

I realized I was gripping Mal back, my fingertips digging into the back of his hand.

The Darkling’s smile widened. He paced to the side and Mal’s eyes stayed locked where he had been. Cold amusement stoked the coal in my chest. So did a smug feeling of superiority - and all it took was stepping to the side to prove it.

_A man afraid._

Something in him turned, and he canted his head as if considering. “Do you know, I really hope you don’t tell him. I would enjoy doing it myself.” He wanted to see the look on Mal’s face when he broke.

I fought hard against the urge to step between the two. To protect Mal. But it would only make him more of a target. As if that was possible. The one protection Mal had was the Darkling’s belief that we needed him to find the Firebird.

I wondered if he had ever thought much about what would allow a simple otkazat’sya man to find legends and myths when no one else had ever been able to. He would never find out. I wouldn’t let him.

“I don’t lie to the people I care about,” I said coldly. I felt a stab of guilt saying it, knowing all the things I had kept from so many people these last months.

The Darkling’s eyes slipped to mine, his face unreadable. What was strange was that I couldn’t read the inside of him, either. He was like the surface of a great, dark lake. I could just make out something moving under the surface, but whatever it was didn’t even cause a ripple.

He smiled again. “Then by all means.”

I ripped my hand from Mal’s angrily. “I’m not going to do it with you standing there,” I snapped. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’d give that to you.”

There was a pause, then Mal spoke. “Alina. Stop.” His voice went beyond calm to something that sent a jolt of worry through me. It was like the resignation he’d shown once he’d realized he was the third amplifier. He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Just stop. You’ve been gone most of the day, and I’m guessing a lot of the night. Whatever it is he wants now, it can wait a few hours. We need to know what’s going on,” he added.

“What’s going on,” I said clearly, my eyes on the Darkling, “is exactly what I said. We’ve been negotiating.”

A smile split the Darkling’s face. It reminded me of the shadows cast by a flickering candle flame.

“Why don’t I like the sound of that?” Mal asked.

“Because it doesn’t fit your plan and because it involves compromise,” I replied, more angrily than I meant to.

“Alina--”

 _”No,”_ I said, cutting him off. “We’re going for a walk. All of you stay here.” Without another word, I took off for the tree line with long strides. “And this _will_ be quick,” I said with a forbidding look at the Darkling.

I heard someone try to follow, but their steps cut off abruptly.

“By all means,” Zoya muttered. “Leave us behind without a word again. I know _I_ only signed on for the suicide mission to be decoration.”

Harshaw said something in reply, but I couldn’t make it out.

When we were far enough away that the others couldn’t overhear, I stopped, but didn’t turn around. The Darkling waited.

He wanted terms, so I laid them out, brusque.

“Turn Nikolai back. Give him the throne. Work with me on an alternate plan for you and I, with the same general goals in mind as your original - goals, not means. Everyone on both sides of this war, Grisha and otkazat’sya, are pardoned so long as they swear themselves to the crown. You will seek no vengeance on those who didn’t side with you, _especially_ my friends and those who fought with us.” I paused. “Consider it your first lesson in the advantages of actual mercy,” I added tersely. “I will have a private guard who answer only to me, just as you have your Oprichniki. And you will ensure that I never,” I enunciated the word, “feel as if I am being trapped, hemmed in, or supervised in any way.” I turned around to face him and put my hands on the small of my waist.

“You will pretend Malyen Oretsev does not exist. Whatever he wants to do with his life - rejoin the military, sail across the ocean and disappear, start a turnip farm or foster rescued squirrels, it’s his choice. But you will leave him alone. No tricks, no loopholes.”

He half smiled, a twisted thing. “Except he isn’t going to want any of those things, is he, Alina?” His voice was quiet in a worrying way.

Words gummed up my throat. I knew where this had to go, but Saints, I did not want to have to be the one to say it.

His eyes narrowed fractionally, and after a beat, he started toward me. “Your tracker won’t want to leave your side. Will he continue to guard you? Perhaps he’ll be a personal attendant. Maybe he’ll curl up at the foot of your throne after all.”

I didn’t flinch as he stopped, standing too close, his gaze unbroken.

“I won’t let him stay,” I said.

His eyes turned searching. I flinched back when he probed into me along our connection. It felt like a violation, a misuse of whatever was between us.

That hurt him, but he hid it so very well.

“You’ll pardon me for finding that hard to believe,” He said. “Your dedication to the boy has been... singular.”

I nearly snapped at him for calling Mal a “boy.” If he was a boy, it would make me a girl, and the ancient Darkling and I had just been to bed together. He had pursued me for months.

“You find it hard to believe because you’re afraid,” I said, more sharply than I intended. “I think you might be the most afraid person I’ve ever met. And because you can’t understand loving someone enough to put what they need ahead of what you want.

“I grew up with him.” I paused. “You and I have a connection that no one else will ever be able to understand. _He_ and I have a connection that _you_ won’t ever be able to understand.

“He hated it at the Palace. I’m sure you put that together.” And if he came back now? What life could he possibly have there that would be anything but torture? That would be anything but a slow death of the worst kind?

“Mal needs to--” I shook my head, and fought to keep my voice steady. “He needs to go somewhere he can live like he never met me. Like he should have a long time ago.”

There was a question in him, not quite a question and not quite an idea. A confusion. But there was enough of it that it gave me my next words.

“I can’t sacrifice anything,” I said quietly. “I can’t say I’m giving up my life, even though I really have no choice. I can’t say I’m doing something I don’t want to do, not really. You trapped me here. Mapped out my course. You would hunt me and torture me to get what you wanted.” I said it confidently, because I had no doubt he would. “I could say the same about you, that you’re choosing this. That we are both willing. But you aren’t me, and what’s easy for one of us isn’t necessarily easy for the other.

“You’re broken in ways I’m not. You have scars I don’t. You have hundreds of years of calluses built up, and those don’t go away just because what you’ve been waiting for shows up. It’s going to be harder than you think it will. It’s going to be harder than I think it will. But we’re not apart anymore.

“I need for you to bend. That’s my condition. And I understand that for you, that’s a sacrifice. It is not what you have made yourself.” I paused, then said quietly, “I’m giving you my life, Aleksander.” I felt the shudder go through him. Saying his name was starting to feel less tender, less strange, and more like a right. As if I had claimed ownership of it, out of all the people in the world just, I realized, as part of me claimed ownership of him. “All of it. Not the short breath that knows these people,” I nodded to the way we’d come. _That gets to know them._

“You lied to me. From the moment I met you, you lied. That’s my scar.” I gestured between us. “My price is proof you’re done with it. And proof that you were honest about the important things.

“We know the difference between you forcing me back, and me returning voluntarily. This is my part of that. This is me,” I had to brace myself so my voice would keep steady, “setting something aside. Choosing.

“All I ever wanted was safety for Ravka. Joining forces toward that end is hardly much of a sacrifice.” Not if we could do it the right way. I paused. “Not that part,” I said quietly. Then for a long moment, I couldn’t make myself speak, as if forestalling it could somehow save me, as if another answer, any other answer at all, might drop out of the sky.

“I don’t have anything else to sacrifice,” I said again, and this time it was nearly a whisper. It was only a beat before he must have seen where I was going, because shock jolted through him, and he held himself back, waiting, disbelieving.

“Trust is my scar. Betrayal is yours. As long as you live, you’ll probably always believe I left you for him that first time. This isn’t a treaty. It isn’t a trade agreement or a political marriage. It isn’t love either. It isn’t love the way you and I aren’t Grisha.”

I paused. I couldn’t look at him. “We agree on terms. I return to the Palace. I’m yours, and no one else’s. You are mine. And no one else’s.” My eyes flitted up to his, sharp. Then I paused, for as long as I thought I could get away with. “And I will never see Malyen Oretsev again for as long as he lives.”

The Darkling was rooted to the spot by lead weight that grew heavier every moment. Something that only vaguely resembled disbelief stirred somewhere in him.

“I’ll make sure he’s safe,” I added, dulling the sharpest corners of the warning in my voice. “That his luck is no worse than anyone else’s, that he lives a long life. I’ll have people watching him, checking up on him. But I won’t--” my throat closed around the words, and it was a moment before I could force them out. “I won’t even have them tell me anything about him, if that’s your price. Nothing more than that he’s safe and healthy. When he dies... I want to attend the funeral.”

Now it _was_ disbelief he felt. But not suspicion. I was sincere, and he knew it. He could feel it shredding me.

He wanted to touch me. All he did was ask, his voice perfectly, infuriatingly controlled, “What else?”

I heaved a sigh. It felt like the weight of stones settled into me on the exhale. Then I hesitated. “You’re not going to like it.”

He tensed invisibly.

“I’m not taking the third amplifier.”

He said nothing, so I added, “Ever.”

A wall of Grisha steel dropped down over him.

“Tell me there’s any possibility you’re going to outlive me as it is,” I snapped. “I took the heads off of two mountains _simultaneously,_ Aleksander, and it was easy as taking a breath. The things I can do now....” I shook my head. I was hardly going to tell him the details, but he could know this much. “And this is after next to no training. Tell me, tell me,” I enunciated, shoving a finger toward the ground between us, “that any part of you is actually worried that I am not going to prove your equal.” I laughed. “Tell me no part of you is worried that I’m going to surpass you!

“You have an obsession with power, like a fever, and it’s one I understand now. Every truly powerful Grisha does. Your mother told me that.” Oh, the place in him where she used to be hurt. “She warned me, explained how it’s like a drug. And it goes back to what you have always wanted from me.” _Counterbalance. A check._

“I _hurt_ not having the second fetter,” I did nothing to stop my voice from breaking around the words. He could feel my pain, the burn of the ache, and that was fine, because there was no way for him to know every part of what caused it. “And that is exactly why I will not take it. Because that pain, that obsession and clawing need, is a constant reminder of how easy it is to go too far, of what a seductive fall it is when you say yes to it just once.”

He sighed. “You’re still afraid of yourself. You have a martyr complex, Alina.” He did nothing to hide is disdain. “It’s in your way.” _In_ our _way,_ he meant.

“If you want to do everything you’ve told me,” he went on, “you’re going to have to let it go. Let go of the idea you cling to that any part of you is small. You aren’t. You are better than everyone else.” He paused, and I could almost hear Baghra saying the words through his lips, saying them to a young boy with dark hair. “Your plan hinges on us being far, far removed from human.” He leaned in until his face wasn’t three inches from mine. “Let. Go.” He was angry. Impatient. Hungry.

“Wrong,” I snapped, closing the distance between us even further. “My plan hinges on everyone else _seeing_ us as something other than human. But if you and I truly lose all humanity, then your hundreds of years of waiting and carefully laid plans, and all of this now, will be for nothing, because we will roll over the world like the hand of God. And I will be the one who instigates it.”

If he’d said he felt no pleasure at the idea, he would have been lying.

“I _crave_ power,” I said, leaning back to stand up straight again. “I need it, I breathe it, to have it and to use it and if I take that fetter, everything that makes me fit to have any part in this will burn away.”

Mal was walking toward us, his face set. He wasn’t close enough to hear anything, but it made me remember something he had told me about Nikolai.

_Nikolai’s a born leader, yes. He knows how to fight. He knows how to politic. He has an inventive mind. But he doesn’t know what it is to live without hope. He’s never been nothing. Not like you or Genya. And he’ll be a good king. But he needs you to be a great one._

I didn’t know if the Darkling had ever been without hope in his life, but long, long ago, he had known what it was like to have nothing. I could have been Nikolai’s balance. But I would have been incomplete. Even if I finished the circle and took the rest of my power, I still would have been incomplete. It would have been an act all my life, and I would have been living in skin that wasn’t my own. A scale had two weighing pans, or it was useless.

“Maybe the amplifiers were destined to be brought together,” I said. “Or maybe your grandfather wanted the Grisha who took them to have a choice. Maybe the third one isn’t for power, it’s a chance for wisdom. Because the pain of not having it will help both of us every time you feel the call of the Fold. The call to flex it, to grow it, to cover the world in it. I know you want to. You always will. That is your weakness, and this,” I held up my naked wrist, jabbing it in the air like an accusation, “is mine. Constantly. For the rest of my life. A starving thirst that nothing else will ever quench.” I focused very, very carefully on the anger I felt. I brought it to the fore so he couldn’t see the pain it hid.

“Go the hell back to camp, Mal!” I bellowed. He was close enough to hear the shout now, and he did stop, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t go back. He just clenched his hands at his sides, then crossed his arms.

I went on as if there had been no interruption, ignoring the billowing surge of flame from that coal lodged in our chests. The fury, the vitriolic hatred. I reached out and took the Darkling’s hands, I didn’t know why. I did it without conscious thought, twining our fingers. He let me, but all I got in return was a small twitch of fingers as if an involuntary reflex. “We will share that,” I said. “We will bear it together. Or there will be no point in any of this.”

I was breathing hard. He was still and quiet. Waiting.

I took a deep breath. “My last condition is that you teach me merzost.”

That broke his calm - his lip twitched in an unfriendly way, and he pulled his hands from mine, stepped away, and turned his back on me. He made the predictable assumption about my motive.

“We have an imbalance between us,” I said quietly. “You marked me, but I haven’t returned the favor. That’s against the new world order.” I canted my head at his back. He hid his hands from me. “While you take a moment to remember who you’re dealing with and the kind of person I actually am - you, who has been telling me to be myself from the beginning - let me ask you this: do you really think I couldn’t figure it out on my own before long?”

Something in him went cold and hard.

I pursed my lips and tromped over the uneven ground to stand in front of him again. “You will teach me merzost, and I will thank you,” I said, scathing, “as you thanked me.” My eyes darted pointedly to his left shoulder. “We both know I have no hope of banishing the Unsea, which is well and good because I think we both also left behind the pretence that you would ever let that happen a long time ago. My creatures will guard passages so people can cross safely whenever they like.” I paused. “Maybe we can each have a special guard, soldiers of darkness and light. I’m told theatrics can go a long way with the people.”

He wavered. Barely, a tremor no more than the twitch of a hand, but it was there.

“I used the Cut within months of learning of it,” I pressed. “It took you over a decade. Could you ever have anticipated how fast I would learn everything set before me? I’m not naming this as a condition because I can’t figure it out.” I nearly scoffed. “I’m doing it because...” I had to stop, because suddenly I didn’t know what exactly I was trying to say.

The Darkling did. He felt it, saw its shape before I did, and it was an alien thing in him before it had a chance to be anything else. I was starting to see that certain emotions, good emotions, were as strange to him as the idea of immortality was to me, and even less real.

_You want to do this together._

The realization rocked against me like a gale wind on the ocean. It hit with such perfect intensity that tears were instantly in my eyes.

I had loved one person my entire life. I knew what that felt like. I said that whatever was between the Darkling and I wasn’t love, but I had the same impulse now that I had always had with Mal, especially when we were children, before things had gotten complicated and confusing. I had been operating under it with the Darkling since... when? Since he had agreed to consider my idea? Since he had hooked his leg around mine and told me his name? Since that first, honest, visit once I’d freed myself of the Apparat? Since the Chapel?

I was negotiating terms. I was making propositions and allowances for the future of Ravka and her people. That was why we were here.

How long had I been thinking in terms of “us,” instead of “you and me?” As if it was a foregone conclusion, an accepted reality?

I felt the world tilt around me.

The Darkling was looking at me like I was the rising sun, breathtaking and alien, and he had no idea what to do with what he saw. His eyes widened in a genuine expression. His lips parted just slightly. Then something almost like disgust tinted the whole thing.

My monster.

My fist clenched, and without a word, I loosed bands of light around him that snapped inward at every angle. They met with thundercracks, creating a wind that flew outward, disturbing the grasses and the boughs of trees.

Mal started running toward me.

The sense that let me feel him nearing got farther and farther away, as if it was being taken by the gentle drift of a cloud. I stood, face pinched and eyes wide, staring at nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone needs to write a Grisha AU where everything is the same, except DL was born with light powers and Alina with shadow powers.
> 
> Someone who is not me. I already have too many fics going. >_>


	23. Chapter 23

I didn’t remember Mal reaching me. I didn’t remember him walking me back to the camp or sitting me down and wrapping a blanket around me.

I remembered moving. I remembered the temperature in the air changing, I remembered bodies and voices, soft, then loud, then quiet. I remembered the feel of hands trying to rub life into my arms.

The air got darker and colder.

I remembered a strange sort of... thing, above my belly button and attached to my spine. It spread up through my chest and it was there, always there, and I wasn’t alone because of it. I couldn’t be. Not ever.

I don’t remember when I started to come back. The first thing I noticed was the warmth next to me. Mal sat, holding me against his side under the rough blanket, sharing his warmth, an arm around my back. My head was nested on his shoulder.

My offer to the Darkling came rushing back to me, and it felt like the whole of me was hollowed out, all at once.

I looked up without moving. It was full dark. Aidrik was sleeping in a bedroll on the ground, out in the open, his simple clothing dirty. I didn’t see anyone else. Just Tamar sitting on the other side of a small fire, staring into it. Tents were up behind her, deep shadows on their canvas where the firelight didn’t reach.

I turned my head into his Mal’s neck and croaked, “I’m sorry.” My voice was no more than a whisper.

He took a quiet breath and shifted. Tamar’s eyes shot to us, to me, but he gave a minute shake of his head. His jaw worked like he wanted to say something, but nothing came. He just shifted to hold me closer to him under the blanket and rested his cheek gently against the top of my head.

“Long couple of days, huh?” Tamar said eventually.

“Long couple of days,” I repeated, staring at the coals in the fire. My voice crackled, and I tried to clear my throat, but it was too dry.

Mal unstoppered a waterskin with his teeth and handed it to me. I didn’t even want to lift my head to drink. I didn’t want to lose even that much contact. So I took a few careful sips and handed it back, thanking him quietly.

I said the first thing I could think of. The first easy thing. “He’s at Keramzin.”

Mal went rigid, and Tamar’s golden eyes widened.

“Everyone is fine,” I assured them. “They’ll stay that way, depending.”

“He’s holding them hostage,” Tamar concluded.

“That was the general idea.” Reluctantly, I pulled my head from Mal’s strong shoulder and sat up. I stayed as close to him as I could.

“They’re children,” a shaky voice said from behind Tamar. Aidrik was sitting up in his bedroll, turned to look at us. He’d lost weight. His face was dirty, too. Did mine look like that? Tired and haggard, too young and too old all at once? “I know most of them.”

“He doesn’t care,” Zoya’s voice said flatly from one of the tents.

I sighed heavily. “Everyone just come out. I know you’re all awake, anyway.”

Harshaw was out of his tent immediately. His boots were still on. Oncat appeared to be staying behind in the warmth. The others at least paused for a moment before shuffling and emerging.

Nadia sat next to Tamar on a thick log with my coat draped over it - it wasn’t like I ever used it. Aidrik was on her other side. She wrapped an arm around him and pulled him to her. I saw his shoulder twitch, as if he wanted to return the gesture with an arm that was no longer there.

Harshaw, Tolya, David and Genya stood. The Inferni fingered his flint absently and Tolya was behind Tamar, his massive arms folded over a two-barrel chest, a frown on his face. David’s hands fidgeted until Genya took hold of one and leaned gently into him. Zoya sat herself next to me, so close we were touching. Misha was on the other side of Mal, covered in a stolen corner of the blanket, and Ruslan next to Tolya, arms folded, elbows resting in his hands. The contrast between his graceful frame and Tolya’s massive one might have been funny at another time.

I had forgotten how many of us there were. And how few.

The first place my mind went was wondering how much I could tell them. I remembered my own words, snapped at the Darkling. _I don’t lie to the people I care about._ I wasn’t sure I could remember a time when that had actually been true. Saints, I hadn’t been honest with Mal since I’d been fourteen years old.

His thumb stroked my side in a soothing rhythm, hidden under the blanket. He turned and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my temple. No one commented, no one rolled their eyes or made a sound.

The contact hurt, but it was distant, like looking at something so far away you couldn’t really make it out. It was as if the bad things didn’t matter, because right now, I was here. With Mal. I could let that be the whole world, let the idea of “future” float away, and I could feel it with even the tiniest pieces of me. Even the air all around us felt different.

A little shiver went over Aidrik, and I warmed the clearing. I didn’t have to move to do it. It was like all the light around us was mine, was a piece of me, the same way my power was. Like it was the same, but now instead of living inside of me, it was all around me in every direction.

I wondered if this strange lightness was what Mal had felt after he had decided he would give up his life to give me the amplifier. But it couldn’t quite be the same. He had seen an end coming. He would make a sacrifice, and then he would never feel anything again. Perhaps that was why it still hurt, under the parts of me that were so honed in on him.

How many places in me were there to discover? Would I reach an age where I would feel numb all the time?

I breathed. Then I told them everything, starting with the growing connection between the Darkling and I. I told them his secret, how he had waited for me, what he wanted from me. I told them of Aleksander Morozova - all but the name. That I kept for myself, along with the reason I’d been gone so long yesterday and... Mal. I told them my idea and my terms.

“Good for him he wasn’t born a monster,” Zoya said. Her voice surprisingly calm. I didn’t know what else I heard there. Sadness? Compassion? Not for him, certainly. “He is one now. You can’t trust anything he says.”

“That’s just it,” I replied. “It’s not what he’s said. It’s little things, all along the way. Things since I first met him, things I’ve put together on my own, and through what his mother told me. He isn’t going to stop until he has me, and I think this is the last chance I have to try and get something out of him, to go into it without my hands and feet bound. If this doesn’t work... I don’t think there’s anything he won’t do. I honestly don’t.”

“Ok,” Ruslan said. His voice was level, but for a little catch there in the middle of the short word. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’d be taking a lot on faith going back.”

I shrugged. “At some point, something has to give. One of us has to take a chance. This is both of us taking a chance, because when I go back, I have leverage. Every day, every minute.”

A shallow line settled between Nadia’s brows. “What leverage?”

“She means herself,” Mal said.

I swallowed. “Just so.”

Zoya huffed a deep sigh. She pushed her frazzled ebony tresses out of her face. “That’s a hell of a gamble, Starkov.”

“We have a plan,” Tolya pointed out.

I looked at him, and I felt something like pity on my face. “It’s suicide, Tolya. More deaths for nothing, more people thrown into the path of a landslide. If we went with the plan and he bothered to take any of you alive, it would only be so he could use you to torture me. We don’t have the men. We don’t have the power.”

“The Apparat--” Tamar began, at the same time Zoya said “The Firebird--”

“The Apparat is an ass who I don’t trust to do a single thing that won’t serve himself, I interrupted. “He knows what we’re up against. Maybe he’ll send the men we asked for. But why would he? Who would ever know he denied my request? If we lost and I died or was taken, he could use that to his advantage. If we won, he could just come up with some excuse for why the soldiers weren’t there.” I laughed bitterly. “He is the linchpin in our scraped-together, last-ditch plan. And what could he even send? Faith doesn’t replace training and combat experience. We’re desperate. And we’re acting like it. He knows every move we’re going to make.”

I saw Genya look at David, and they seemed to have a silent conversation.

“How much does the Darkling know?” Tolya asked clinically.

“Nothing but what he can guess on his own. I don’t think he could rummage around in my head without me feeling it. If whatever is between us has the power to do that, it hasn’t gotten there yet. Thank the Saints.” I paused. “Or whoever.”

A hush went over the camp as everyone took it all in.

“I have to agree with Zoya,” Ruslan said. “I understand what you’re saying, but this sounds like a lot of room for a lot of things to go wrong.”

“As opposed to plan A?” I asked, nearly laughed. “We can’t beat him.” I looked around to all of them, my face stark and honest. “I’m sorry to be the one to say it. I wish I could say otherwise, but the fact is he has an army that only one person can hurt, and another that’s going to be a lot bigger than ours. His Grisha will outnumber us at least ten to one, probably more, and that’s counting the two we have whose powers aren’t much use in a fight, and the one who hasn’t had time to figure out how to use his one-handed.

The Darkling won’t be stupid enough to bring the First Army in case they decide to turn. He has hundreds of years of tactical experience, and I don’t know... I don’t know how far he’ll go with the hostages he has. He doesn’t care about collateral damage. Especially not now that everything he has wanted for so long is so close.”

“You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be,” Zoya said angrily. “If you would just take the third amp--”

“If I would just take the third amplifier,” I snapped overtop of her, “it’s nothing better than a different gamble with worse stakes that carries the biggest possible risk. You saw me at the Little Palace after I took the fetter, Zoya. I made you squirm, and I loved it. I came within a literal half inch of cutting Sergei in half because he argued with me, and I wanted to kick Baghra out into the snow when she wouldn’t give me information I wanted. The number of times it was a force of will not to mow down bickering councilmen....” I let them finish the thought.

“You think the Darkling is bad?” I asked, looking around at all of them, huddled together, under-fed and under-rested and long since emotionally exhausted. “Before I first fled the Little Palace, Baghra told me that with Morozova’s stag as an amplifier, I would be the most powerful Grisha who ever lived.” I recalled almost this exact same conversation with Nikolai in the Spinning Wheel. I could hardly remember how long ago that had been. “When I took Rusalye, that power grew exponentially. If you think the Darkling is hard to kill, imagine someone who is a hundred times more powerful. A thousand. If there is even anything human left after that, I will be a walking God. And whether anyone wants to hear this or not, I’ll be mourning, because that--” I bit my tongue angrily to hold back the worst of what I wanted to call him, _“man,_ is a piece of me now, a big piece, and I will have just murdered him.”

My voice broke on the last word. _Him._

_Mal. Mal, Mal dead, Mal on my wrist, Mal the reason I could kill the last piece of me._

His face was a blank mask. He knew.

I watched everyone else now, whenever the third amplifier came up, for the slightest spark of suspicion. They knew Mal and I were hiding something about the Firebird. It would be an impossibly - improbably - long leap to even consider the possibility that the Firebird wasn’t an amplifier at all, then to guess that there still was a third amplifier, and rather than another creature of legend it was a human. A simple otkazat’sya man instead. No otkazat’sya had ever been an amplifier. But I would take no chances, and so I payed attention.

“You don’t want to see what something like that looks like lost in the throes of grief,” I added, my voice hard.

“Oretsev could bring you back,” Zoya said.

I turned my body to face her. “Want to bet the world on it? And what if he’s dead, hm?”

“The Darkling needs him,” Ruslan said.

“He needed the half of the Second Army he killed, too,” I half snapped.

“We all need some rest,” Mal said. “This will wait until morning.”

“Yeah, because any of us are going to get any sleep,” Zoya said.

“Actually,” Genya said, looking from David to us, “David may have an idea about Plan A.”

“It was Genya’s idea,” the Fabrikator said.

“We’ll make sure to put her name on the plaque,” said Zoya. “Now out with it.”

“Surprise,” Genya said. “You kept our ship invisible the whole time we traveled. I know you can do it to people, too.”

I felt my brow furrow. “So what, sneak an army into the capitol? People will hear them. Run into them on the street.”

She shook her head. “You suggest a meeting on neutral ground. Near the Fold, maybe. It would be poetic.”

“Now I know why you don’t write,” Zoya said.

“My point is, it would get him there. We can meet him from the other side. Even if it’s just us--”

“No,” I said firmly.

“Actually,” Tamar said, “this isn’t a terrible idea.”

I half glowered at her in challenge, but ended up nodding for Genya to go on.

“Even if it’s just us,” she said, “we can do a lot with the element of surprise. Even if we weren’t invisible, no one would expect an attack from the Fold.”

“He would,” I said flatly.

“Were you always this cheery?” Zoya asked.

“More,” I replied. To Genya I said, “Go on.”

“We’ll still be invisible. We can scout his position, find out what he’s brought with him. Then we hit hard and fast, split up, and go from there. You can mow down his nichevo’ya from inside the Shadow Fold - no one is going to shoot at the Sun Summoner.”

“How am I supposed to keep you invisible if you’re spread out around an army? And what about the monsters made of darkness once they enter the Unsea? Made of darkness. Hard to hit what I can’t see.”

“Except you can,” Mal said. “You had your eyes closed when you took out two mountains.”

“You mean when I was concentrating with everything I was and no one was being murdered around me? And my friends weren’t being shot at? I’m powerful, but concentration has always been my weak spot. You want me, with my eyes closed, to cut down nichevo’ya, follow all of you and any soldiers we have as they spread out around the Darkling’s army, and keep you all invisible. At the same time.”

He shrugged. “You didn’t think you could take down one mountain two miles away.”

“That was different,” I objected

“Then take the third amplifier and maybe it won’t be.”

For a moment, all I could do was stare at him, anything I might want to say stuck in my throat. “Have you not been listening?” I finally managed.

Mal’s fingers twitched. Under the blanket the brushed toward my wrist. It was all I could do not to shove away from him.

“Let’s get some rest,” he said again. Then he stood and strode out into the dark woods. When he disappeared from the circle of firelight, my brain caught up to me and I cast myself out into the trees, looking for Nikolai. We didn’t know if he could hold back with anyone but me.

Mal was alone out there, so as everyone else sat unmoving, I went into the only tent no one had come out of, shoved the flap aside, and disappeared. No one outside said a word.

Eventually I laid down on top of my bedroll still fully dressed. I was just drifting off when the the tent flap opened and I felt Mal come in. For long minutes, all he did was look down at me in silence. Then he crouched down and slowly and gently eased my feet out of my boots before removing his own. He scooted his bedroll up against mine, then tucked himself against me, pressed his forehead and nose to the base of my skull with a deep, quiet inhale as he wrapped an arm around around my middle. I moved into him as he put his calf between mine.

I had a dream that the Darkling came as we slept. I dreamed I saw my own brow crease at his anger as it faded into cool resolve.

 

* * * * *

 

Despite what Mal had said the night before, no one was in a hurry to do any talking the next morning.

I woke to him still holding me, every inch from his face to his feet either pressed against me or intertwined in my limbs. My own arms had moved to grip the one that lay over me, clutching it to my chest like some kind of talisman.

I knew he was awake. His breathing was even, but deep, and I just sort of felt him there, next to me. I didn’t say anything, and as I woke, neither did he. I put an arm behind me, around his back.

He had been acting strange since last night, and watching me as if I was about to run or vanish. I knew we had to talk, but I couldn’t bring myself to break the peace, the perfect warmth and stillness, the familiarity of home.

When dawn faded and gave way to morning light, he sighed a deep inhale and put a hand on my shoulder, pressing a long, lingering kiss to it, then another, shorter one, and stroked his thumb over the spot. He got up, put on his outer layer and boots, and slipped out of the tent. I followed him on the light as he gathered his bow and arrows and went out into the woods.

He wasn’t gone long, and once he had a large pheasant cooking, even the smell did little to rouse anyone.

I didn’t know how much more time we would get alone together, even if it was only with the hollow illusion of privacy, so I pulled on my own boots and went to join him.

As we ate, I felt Tamar and Nadia approach from out in the woods. My reach wasn’t more than a quarter mile or so unless I willed it further; I had been keeping it at a generous half mile, so to feel them like this now, they must have left together long before dawn.

Tolya was the first to join us, followed shortly by Harshaw and Aidrik. No one but Oncat said a word, and Harshaw didn’t eat, he just stared at the fire and fed bits of meat to her. She wrapped a paw around his hand each time, as if afraid he would take it away too fast. Everyone else ate very little, and slowly. Even Tolya didn’t eat as much as usual.

As Nadia and Tamar neared camp, Mal stood and held a hand out to me. He didn’t need to say anything. A sense of _we need to talk_ practically radiated from him.

He moved slower than usual, and took us farther than we needed to go for privacy, like he was stalling. I watched his back almost the whole time. It was tense, and alert as always, but there was something else. That same thing about his demeanor last night that I couldn’t identify. More than once, I almost stopped him and demanded to know what was going on. But the truth was, I was afraid of the answer. We would get there soon enough, anyway.

By the time he stopped us in a thick of tall, needled trees, and turned to face me, I felt miserable. I knew it must show on my face.

“What happened?” He asked without preamble.

“I told you what happened.”

“Right. Now I’m asking you what you left out, because I know there is something.”

He had no idea I’d been with the Darkling. Of course he didn’t. That wasn’t what he was asking, it would be a lunatic assumption to make. It was my own fear and paranoia that made me think otherwise.

I tried to find an answer. More than once, I opened my mouth to speak, but there was nothing there. The silence stretched on and on, longer and longer.

His mouth set, and he stepped forward. He put his hands on my arms, giving a soothing squeeze and stroking with his thumbs. He tipped his chin down to look me in the eyes. “What didn’t you say last night?”

When I managed to answer, my voice was pitifully weak. “A condition.” He waited, and I finally looked up at him. “You.”

It took him only a moment to piece it together, and I saw the exact moment he did. His face went blank and straightened his spine. “Tell me,” he said evenly.

I looked up into his clear, beautiful eyes. In the end, I couldn’t hold his gaze when I said it, so I looked down and I fought to keep my face from crumpling. “I’ll never see you again,” I whispered. _You’ll be safe,_ I wanted to say. _You can do anything you want, lead any life, he won’t touch you._ But none of that would matter.

He laughed. My eyes snapped up to his, wide and round.

“Saints, Alina,” he asked, “how is that a problem?”

I stammered. “Excuse me?”

He put a hand on my face, gentle and tender. Loving. The mirth slowly bled from his eyes, and he said, “I was ready to die. I still am. If we’re never going to see each other again, if you’re dead set on doing things this way - which we’re going to talk about, by the way - why not just... do it?” Like murdering him was that easy? Had he gone mad? “You’ll always have the option, that way, of taking the second fetter. And he won’t be able to use us against each other ever again. Besides, you’re forgetting something.”

“I’m really not,” I ground out.

“No? What about the Fold? I watched you burn your power for almost a full night in there. You can’t take it down unless you have all three amplifiers.”

“I don’t have to take it down!” I shouted, a glow collecting against my skin. “I just have to make sure people can cross it safely, and I have more than enough power for that. Saints, Mal, enough with the martyr complex!”

His face went flat. “Chapel.”

“Not planned,” I retorted.

His eyes narrowed. “In the clearing with the knife.”

“That was different.”

“It really wasn’t.”

Before I knew what I was doing, my fist snapped forward, and blood was trickling from one side of Mal’s nose.

He barked a laugh, swiped at his face, and spat off to one side. “Feel better?”

“No,” I said, curt.

“You can do it again if it will help.” His voice was warm. And fond, and wry, and sad.

“Don’t tempt me. Tell me it at least knocked some sense into you or I really might try again.”

He hummed. “I swore an oath. I’m going to keep it. I will never fail you again. I will never let you down again.”

“Then _live._ You can’t keep an oath if you’re dead, Mal.”

“I can’t keep an oath if I never see you again, either.”

“What did you think was going to happen if I married Nikolai?” I shouted.

“That was different,” he said, using my own words against me. He was right, and I knew it. Nikolai was not the Darkling, and Mal and I would have been able to visit now and again at the very least.

“You’ll be there, with him,” Mal went on. “You’ll be alone. Which is probably exactly what he wants. You can’t have thought I’d be alright with this. That any of us would.”

“Except I won’t be alone, because I’m not that stupid. Our Grisha will be welcome back, and I’ll have a personal guard who answers to no one but me.”

He nodded, but it wasn’t an agreement. “And once they’re gone?”

“If you’re supposed to be serving me, why are you arguing so much?” I snapped.

“Because letting you be suicidally reckless isn’t serving you.”

“Stubborn jackass.”

“You say that like you haven’t known it since we were eight.”

“Hypocrite.”

His smile was deep in its sadness. “Also probably always true. But if that’s what it takes to keep you safe, then that’s what it takes.”

That time, I had to take a moment to keep from really losing my temper.

“Your skull’s gotten thicker,” I finally managed.

He shrugged, a little smile on his lips. “I learned from the best.”

We stood, some sort of face-off happening as we looked at one another in silence.

I broke it with a sigh. “Please stop,” I said, quiet and earnest.

He walked forward and put a hand on my face. “No," he said gently. "I won't stop fighting for you. To make sure you get what you need. To keep you safe. To support you. To remind you who you are. Saints know I spent long enough running from it like a self-centered coward.” He paused, and his eyes turned serious. “All that time I wasted... you’re remarkable, Alina. You always have been. Your kindness, your forgiveness. Your courage. Your ability to do what needs to be done.”

I made a disgusted noise. “Could you try to be a little less obvious?”

He shrugged, a smile pulling at one side of his mouth. A cloud shifted overhead, letting the sun through, and for a moment the blue of his eyes was almost luminous. “Why waste time?” He asked quietly. “Either way, we don’t have much of it left.”

I squeezed my eyes shut against the sudden prick of tears and took fistfulls of his shirt in hand, leaning in to rest my forehead against the base of his throat with an angry, broken growl. “You’re such an ass,” I choked out.

A little breath puffed out of his nose, and he rested his cheek on my forehead, stroking my hair with one hand and holding me to him with the other.

“How can I do this?” I whispered.

It was a long moment before he answered. “You don’t have to. You have a choice.”

Sure, I had a choice. Lose him forever, or murder him, and then lose him forever.

I could feel words hanging in the air, unsaid. _Just make the right one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my A+ picky/analytical readers:
> 
> I have come to the conclusion that this isn't going to be exactly what I want for a long time. I mean, I don't have an editor or a team of Betas, and I can feel it kind of slipping away from what I wanted it to be in the beginning (not plot-wise). I say all of this just so you know - if you're as detail-oriented as I am - that I know there are problems with flow and consistency, with style, with people slipping out of character. I just don't think I'll be able to fix those things without a lot of time and distance, and for now, I'm more interested in getting this DONE than getting it perfect.
> 
> I'm not disparaging myself, I promise. I'm proud of what I'm doing, I think it's badass. I just imagine myself reading the things I write, and if that were the case, I would want her to know *points up*. "This isn't the best I'm capable of, it's just the birth."


	24. Chapter 24

I was watching Harshaw in the late afternoon sun where he crouched on the ground, dangling a leaf over Oncat’s head. Genya had taken a comb to my hair and was carefully working through the tangles. Water from a nearby creek was heating over a mellow fire so we could all bathe - Mal and I hadn’t even gotten the chance in Cofton.

I felt the Darkling before I saw him. I looked up, and he was standing there in his black kefta, watching me. There was something off about him, something buried in his face. His stillness was somehow menacing

“Still playing the servant, I see,” he remarked. I knew he meant Genya.

I pushed her hands gently but firmly away and scooted aside so we weren’t touching. “No,” I replied cautiously. “The friend. Have you decided?”

The others were tense instantly, but their reaction wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been even a few days ago. They were getting used to this. Everyone was here but Mal, who was out checking our perimeter. I held a hand out to them and said to the Darkling, “Let’s go for a walk.” Without waiting for an answer, I rose from the ground, dusted off my backside, and stepped into the woods.

Moving was easier now. I never stumbled, never faltered. I could see in every direction at once, and I knew what was blocked from my sight. I recognized which patches of ground would sink if I stepped on them, where stones hid, which fallen logs could support my weight, and which would crumble from decay. When we had gone far enough, I stopped and turned to him.

“What’s wrong?” I asked without preamble.

He watched me for a moment. Then, ignoring my question completely, he said, “I have my terms.”

His voice was as inexpressive as the rest of him, and I felt a chill prick its way up my spine. There was a distance to him that I couldn’t account for. He was so close to having what he wanted. There was no reason for him to pull back now.

“What happened?” I asked. He didn’t answer, so I said, “Where are you? Not literally. Figuratively. You’re not here. What’s going on?”

Something flickered and sputtered behind his eyes. Calmly, almost detached, he said, “We will stabilize Ravka. Lantsov can assume the throne, but he will be under our direct command, as will all future rulers. Once that is done, you and I will see an end to the incursions from Fjerda and the Shu Han by any means necessary. You will do nothing to undermine me.”

I tried to take his guage, but decided the best thing I could do right now was play along. “And what happens when I don’t like what you’re doing?” I asked carefully.

His lips twitched, rueful and almost bitter. “I have no doubt I will hear about it, Alina, loudly and in great detail. We will decide how to proceed together whenever possible. If there is a tie, I will break it.”

I laughed, I couldn’t help myself. “Please tell me that’s your decoy offer, because you know I won’t agree to it. I might as well march back into the Fold and wait for you there so you can push out its shores whenever the mood strikes.”

“Have you figured out how I did it?”

“Of course I have,” I scoffed. “You practically spelled it out for me.”

It might have been my imagination, but I would have sworn his posture softened, if by no more than a fraction of a degree. “What would you propose when we disagree on a course of action?” He sounded like he was questioning a particularly adept pupil.

“We talk about it? Like normal people? We understand that thousands of lives depend on our decisions and we don’t throw them away arbitrarily just because they’re, I don’t know, snowflakes falling in summer?”

“...We’ll set that aside for now,” he said, businesslike.

I laughed again, a dry, incredulous sound. “Just promise me we’ll try diplomacy first. Even if they make you mad. Especially if they make you mad. You know that if this is just some ‘I’ll get Alina back to the Palace and then she’ll see reason,’ ploy, it’s going to blow up in your face.”

He really did smile then, and it was absolutely a bitter thing. “Don’t worry. I have no illusion that you’re capable of seeing reason.”

His smile was bitter, yes, but there was something else. After a moment, I dared to ask, not quite believing it, “Was that a joke?”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but all he did was pierce me with another look I couldn’t quite parse. My skin was beginning to prick with nervousness, almost like the way you can tell when someone is coming up behind you.

“I told you, Alina, I’m not a monster. We’ll try diplomacy first. Wherever prudent. If any of this initial transition fails to work your way,” he said, “we will do it mine. And I will have your full support.”

I crossed my arms. “Who decides if it’s not working?”

“We do. Are you capable of looking at a thing and seeing it for what it is, instead of what you want it to be? I have my doubts.”

This time the sound I made was a laugh only in the most generous of senses. He was trying to bait me. “Are you?” I countered.

He paused, then said quietly, “I suppose some things, we’ll learn together.” But he wasn’t saying just that. I didn’t know what else he meant, and I couldn’t tell if he really meant it, but before I could ask again what was going on, he was continuing.

“I will teach you merzost.” I was so surprised I nearly rocked back on my feet. “In one hundred years.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and countered with, “Ten.”

“Eighty.”

I paused, considering. “Forty.”

“Fifty. And you will take no make no attempt at it before then.”

“What about the Shadow Fold?” I demanded. “Ravka can’t keep going like this, you of all people know that.”

“It won’t be an issue.”

“Because of the lumiya?” There was a cold edge to his smile. “You still need sunlight to make it work. Shall we build a house on the shores of the Unsea and retire there? Maybe the volcra have just been waiting all this time for someone to ask them nicely not to eat people. Maybe they can be housebroken and kept as pets. We could make them little sweaters.”

“It will be taken care of.”

Dread skittered over my sternum. What did that mean? I looked at it from every angle, but I couldn’t find any risk more important than getting him to take his boot from Ravka’s throat. If this was a trick, I would be around to find it out and try to stop it. I hoped. So I just said, “Fine. Agreed. On that point.”

“You can have your guard,” he said. “And when we are done here today, you will return to the palace immediately. You will tell me when to expect you, and I will send my people out to meet you. You will bring the tracker with you, and I will have the Lantsov boy collected. I’ll restore him once you’re back.”

I felt myself go white, then red. “Absolutely not.”

He walked forward, all grace and certainty. When he reached me, he brought his hands up to frame my face. He leaned in and said in a low voice, “This isn’t a negotiation any longer, Alina. We belong together. We always have, and I am tired of waiting. I have been waiting longer than you can fathom. No more wasting time, no more excuses, and an end to this ridiculous tension. My patience is gone, and your place is at my side.”

There was a dangerous edge to his voice, and that bleak need in his face. He was terribly close to some line I didn’t understand, but I knew that if he crossed it, everything would shatter.

I started with the easiest topic. “Nikolai has been following us.”

For a moment, surprise wiped everything else from his face. He let his hands drop and stood up. There was a play of emotions over behind his eyes that sped by so quickly I couldn’t follow them.

“I fail to see how that changes anything,” the Darkling said. “You’ll save me the manpower to look for him.” He shrugged. “You’re still coming back, and this is done. It’s over. I am tired of your games.”

I saw red and felt the light rush toward my skin from every direction. But I stopped it, I held it back, just barely. The Darkling had used this trick before. _Has it taken you this long to recover from our little scuffle?_ I gave him a flat, unamused look and my hand darted out to grip his wrist, bringing his fingers up to our eye level. Without looking away from him, I reached through our connection as I had in the chapel.

He tried to yank away, his eyes going wide, but I held him fast, and an instant later, I had what I wanted: sunlight, tentative and weak but undeniably there, bloomed against his palm.

In the chapel, I had pulled on his power, reached over into him and yanked. Now, I pushed. I gave instead of taking, and the light grew exponentially more bright. Relief crushed my chest.

“Your power is how I got away from the Apparat,” I said in a near whisper. “I used it to scare the piss out of him, and my friends did the rest. I would never have gotten away if it weren’t for them. He had me all but confined to a cell, weaker than a kitten. You think you’ve seen me withered? I was cradled by death itself for weeks down there while he used my name to enact his agenda.”

Rage crashed through him. If the Apparat had been here, I had no doubt the Darkling would have done to him what he had wanted to do to Sergei that day on the balcony at the Spinning Wheel.

I went on, voice still quieted. “It stood to reason that if I could do that, if the shadows lived in me now, then you had come away with a piece of me, too.” _The further we go, the more closely we become entwined,_ I thought. _How far will it extend before this is over?_ “If I can reach into you and call on my own power... well. I’ll come back with the prince in tow, not the monster.” I paused. “And not Mal.”

Something dangerous surfaced in his expression, and before I could blink he crushed his mouth to mine, one hand burying itself in my hair and gripping too hard, holding me to him as he wrapped his other arm around me. I wanted to hate it. I wanted to be angry, to push him away. But even through his petty anger, through my annoyance at his force, I wanted him. I needed him, and it was like a physical pain. I wanted the contact, I wanted him pressed against me, I wanted him inside me, and the only thing I could liken it to was my thirst for the third amplifier. What I wanted from the Darkling had turned into a fever, and if I had been able to focus on anything but the feeling of him against me and around me, that would have terrified me.

When he finally pulled away, I was flush and out of breath. We stood, looking at one another and breathing hard. He brought a hand up to my cheek, and like he had done in the throne room the first time I had visited him through our tether, I closed my eyes and turned into it. I felt a furrow between my brows.

“It isn’t a request,” he said quietly.

My eyes snapped open and shot up to his.

This was a bluff, a play to get what he wanted. He wanted me, and I was offering myself up. That meant I had the high ground. But as I held his gaze, I realized that no, I didn’t. I saw what would happen if I denied him now. He would leave, and he would wage his war. He would be more brutal than he had to be, more cruel and uncompromising, to punish me and draw me out.

Suddenly, I remembered my dream from the night before, and I felt a prickle of dread. What if it hadn’t been a dream? Every time I turned around, it seemed as if our connection was shifting and growing, and after we had been to bed together, it had shifted and swelled exponentially. First it was visits from a phantom. Then it was feeling one another’s emotions. Was it possible I had seen through his eyes?

“I’ve seen the firebird,” I said quietly. “It was beautiful.”

His eyes widened, and hunger rushed up in him.

“It tried to eat me, actually. But since I was there to kill it, I suppose I can’t blame it. I know where it nests. If I ever change my mind about the second fetter, I can show you the way. We don’t need Mal.” The place where pain stabbed every time I said something like that hadn’t yet begun to callus.

The Darkling’s lips twisted cruelly. “But I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your bedmate.”

My eyes slipped closed. So he had seen us.

“You’re hundreds of years old,” I said wearily. I let my eyes train on his once more. “Tell me you don’t have a past. The only difference is, I don’t have to look at yours. The first woman you were with. The first one you loved. Or the second, or third. Do you think I wouldn’t want to burn every one of them alive just as soon as look at them? But you’re the older one. You’re better, remember?” I managed to keep most of the scathing sarcasm out of my voice. “You’re so much more experienced. So have a little perspective.

“You’re my first, and you’ll be my last. I don’t have the stomach to even think about how many there were for you before me, and I am entitled to say goodbye to the man who was my best friend. Who helped me and kept me safe. Remember, I didn’t grow up like you. I didn’t know I had forever before me.” I paused. “What you saw last night was two people on top of their bedrolls, fully clothed.” Surprise flickered on his face just briefly before he covered it. “So suck it the hell up and let’s move on to better things.”

A piece of me twisted at calling a future where I would to turn my back on Mal “better.” But the intent was there, and suddenly, a part of me _did_ want all of this to be over and finished. An end to the tension, like the Darkling said. I loved Mal. And it would still be easier without him, I knew that. I could hope that with enough time, he would realize how much more freedom he had without having me to worry over. I could hope, but I knew better. I would be the one to move on, knowing I had eternity before me.

I wondered how long the aching pit in my stomach would live.

“You have to accept that I will return of my own free will, or I won’t return at all,” I said, gentling my voice some. “Otherwise all of this will be for nothing. It will mean nothing. I’m not your toy, Aleksander. No more threats, no more ploys, no more dangling things over my head. You’re not going to keep him around just so you can have an implied threat every time you think I step out of line. Because we both know that’s exactly what I’m going to do, often and with enthusiasm.” I paused. “So let’s be adults here. Don’t cheapen this like that.

“I made my choice yesterday,” I said to him. I looked up in time to see hunger and anger warring on his face because I said the words. “And like I said then, we aren’t just two people. There’s a lot more than us on the line. And we’re well past pretending that all you want is my power and my company. You want my loyalty. My dedication and love. That’s why when I told you I’d spend my life showing you how grateful I was, you chose to throw Mal to the volcra instead of sparing him. I wounded your pride. You could have had everything you said you wanted, then and there. But you didn’t take the offer, because it would have been a hollow victory. Because what you really want is to _be_ wanted, to be freely chosen. Because you had hardened yourself into believing that I would just be one more thing you had to take by force. That I couldn’t be what you hoped.

“I know that if you feel like I leave you no choice, you’ll still take me by force. You’ll lock me in a cage until all I can see is you. Or until I find a way to take my own life. But that isn’t what you want and it isn’t what _I_ want and Saints, we are so close. I’m no less selfish than you are, I understand that now. Fortunately, in the end we both want the same thing,” I whispered. “You’re standing here, thinking that I’m the one in the way, that I’m the one making this difficult. But I’m ready for this tripe to be over and behind us. You know what a risk I’m taking returning to the capitol. And I know what a risk you’re taking, too. I know what you think I’ve done, how you think I’ve betrayed you.” Fresh anger passed over his face, but I held up a placating hand. “My point is, this is hard for both of us, if in different ways. It’s a risk for both of us, it’s a leap for both of us. But this can’t just be over,” the words were practically a gust of weariness, “until we take that leap. Like I said, I’m ready. I’m just waiting for you to give the ok.”

I saw many things in him as he studied me, measured and for all appearances calm. But he was anything but. I saw him calculating, thinking ahead, examining a hundred different angles. But he was impatient, as if the weight of hundreds of years spent waiting were all pressing on him at once. What won out in the end was that hunger that had taken root in him so long ago, that had made him drag me through a ballroom and pin me against a door when news of the stag he had been chasing for hundreds of years had been waiting for him in his war room. That made him, as he said, a victim of his own desires.

That he was a victim of anything was laughable. But if I could use it, I would. This needed to end, or Ravka wouldn’t survive. Neither would my friends. I knew they thought their plan would work, but I didn’t. Because I knew that no matter how much surprise we had on our side, no matter how much careful thought, what it would come down to in the end was raw power. Me against the Darkling. And I would never, _never_ take the power I would need to win. Not to save them, and not to save Ravka. This was our only hope.

“Call me when you have Lantsov,” the Darkling said curtly. I felt him want to reach out again, but just as abruptly as he had spoken, he was gone.

Something hung in the air behind him. It was a feeling, and it seemed to say, _I will burn this world to ash if this does not end soon._

 

* * * * *

 

When I got back to camp, I shook my head at the others and said, “When Mal is back,” then went to sit with my back against a tree. I let my head fall and closed my eyes.

Mal was gone so long, I started to worry. I lost myself in the light, searching for him, and tight, heavy pressure dissolved from my chest and shoulders when I felt him coming toward us from about a mile away. I followed him until he made it back to camp.

The first thing he said was, “I found Sergei.”

We all snapped to attention.

“So where is he?” Zoya asked.

Mal pursed his lips and cast a quick glance at Misha.

“Come on little man,” Tolya said after exchanging a look with Mal and glancing at Tamar. “You haven’t gotten any practice in the last few days. Let’s see how you do against someone with some muscle.”

“But--” the boy protested, but Tolya was already shepherding him away.

When they were gone, Mal leaned against a tree, put a hand through his hair, and crossed his arms. “He’s almost a mile to the northeast.” He paused. “I think it was dehydration.”

I cursed. No one else made a sound until Zoya broke the silence.

“Good riddance,” she sniffed.

“I’m not sure anyone deserves that,” Genya said. “Well, almost anyone.” But it was half-hearted, and Zoya didn’t even bother to argue.

Aidrik shrugged his limbless shoulder. “I’m not sorry he’s dead. It’s what he deserves. He got everyone killed. He single-handedly destroyed the rebellion.”

“Single-handedly? That’s almost cute, coming from you,” Zoya said.

Aidrik reddened, but I couldn’t tell if it was more from embarrassment or anger.

Nadia sighed. “I hate to say this, but I’m not sorry to have one less thing to worry about. Sergei hasn’t-- _hadn’t_ been Sergei for a long time now. Nothing we did seemed to help him. And... at least he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“He doesn’t have to be anything anymore,” Tamar said seriously.

“I thought you believed in an afterlife.”

She shrugged. “I do.”

Mal sighed. “I wasn’t sure what I should do with the body. It didn’t look like he’d been gone long, but I didn’t have any tools to dig with. I didn’t like leaving him there, and it didn’t seem like any of you liked him much, so I just made a sort of cairn for him. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“That’s why you were gone so long,” Tamar guessed.

Mal nodded.

Everyone went quiet again until Zoya broke the silence once more. “Well?” she said with an expectant look to me. She put her hands on her hips. “Your boyfriend’s back, so spill.”

Mal looked at me in question. He sank to the ground and sat with his knees up, arms resting on them so his fingers touched.

I sighed, a tight sound that rolled in the back of my throat. “We had a visitor,” I said flatly.

Mal went watchful. “...What did he want now?”

“You, mostly.”

He huffed. “You mentioned.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I had--” _I had this weird dream last night that wasn’t really a dream,_ I almost said. But I thought better of it. “He saw us last night.”

Mal’s eyes widened.

“Exactly,” I said grimly. “Although,” I amended after a thought, “probably not for the reason you’re thinking. No, he came back today with an answer to my terms and a list of his own.”

Zoya snorted and looked away, doing nothing to hide her disapproval of my plan. “This should be good.”

“I don’t agree,” Harshaw said. He sat leaning against a tree. Oncat was curled in his lap, tired from her play session. Ruslan was taking all of this in quietly, as he almost always did.

“Actually, he agreed to most of mine,” I said, a little surprise into my voice.

“Tell us you don’t believe him,” Zoya said drily.

I sighed tightly. I thought about arguing in favor of my plan yet again, but didn’t see the point, so I just went on. “One of his terms was that you,” I said to Mal, “come back with us. I think he wanted to keep you around in case--”

“In case you step out of line,” he finished for me grimly.

“That was my argument, word for word. I said no, of course.”

Immediately, I knew this was the wrong thing to have said to Mal. He tried to protest, but I cut him off. “Don’t. For the sake of every Saint, don’t. I don’t have the energy to keep arguing with all of you, and if you think about it for a minute, you’ll see why it was the right decision.”

“You wouldn’t have to spend so much energy arguing if you weren’t trying to hand us all over to the ancient monster who has already killed thousands,” Zoya said seriously.

I clenched my jaw. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Good. Because I don't, and I think I can speak for everyone else when I say no one does. Because this is the most foolish thing anyone has ever done. And I grew up with Harshaw.”

“Hey,” he protested. “If you’re talking about the time I blew up the pavillion--”

 _”Which_ time?” Ruslan asked, arch.

 _“And besides,”_ Zoya said sharply, cutting off whatever Harshaw was going to say next, “we all know there’s something you’re not telling us. Which is garbage, by the way.”

I gritted my teeth and went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “When Nikolai comes back next, the Darkling is going to undo what he did.” I had explained to them my theory about the Darkling and me being able to access one another’s power. “Once that’s done... he and I will be returning to Os Alta.”

Mal let out a sound almost like a laugh. “You think Nikolai going to agree to this? That he’s going to just walk into the Darkling’s trap?”

I bit back a surge of annoyance and said, “I think he’ll see reason, yes. This is a tightrope walk, I know that. It requires heavy compromise and concession from every side. I’m going to the capitol to wage a different kind of war, but this way, it isn’t soldiers and civilians who pay the price. This way, things actually have a chance of working out. And of getting _better._ No more wars, no more border incursions, no more being cut off from our ports.”

“Right,” Mal said, obviously displeased. “Your honor guard. Merzost. And what happens when the volcra begin to starve and they turn willing to attack, even with your light in the way?”

I shrugged. “Hunting parties, more guards, a variant of lumiya. We have options.”

“Options that chip away a piece of you every time you use them.”

“Actually,” I said lightly, “only one option does that. And it won’t matter - he won’t teach me for fifty years anyway, and I can’t try to learn on my own before then. It was one of his terms. I actually talked him down from one hundred years.”

The others went uncomfortably still at the way I mentioned a century as if I were talking about a few weeks.

“So he’s already trying to limit your power,” Tamar said.

“And control you,” Harshaw added.

“None of you have to agree to this,” I snapped. “It’s happening.” I looked them all in the eye, one by one. “The unpleasant truth is that both of us are going to need to be held in check. What I can do... we haven’t even seen the beginning, and I am not immune to the hunger to use my power that plagues every one of the strongest Grisha the world has ever known.” It occurred to me suddenly that Baghra would have fallen under that umbrella. Was that why she had lived in her hut and refused to call her power? Was that her way of dealing with it, pushing it away to choke the temptation off all together?

I looked at Tamar. “And don’t you start, too, or I won’t take you with me.” I paused a little uncomfortably. “Assuming you want to go,” I added, my voice turning sheepish, if begrudgingly.

She looked at me a long moment. “Tolya and I go wherever you do,” she said simply, “so long as you’ll have us.” Nadia gave her a worried look.

I met the eyes of every Grisha. “None of you have to come back, and I wouldn’t blame you for a moment if you didn’t. I don’t expect anyone to take the risk I’m taking. I know what this has cost all of you, what you’ve lost. You can wait and come back once you know it’s safe, or you can sail across the ocean, find some plush job working for a Merchant lord in Ketterdam. But I’m going.”

For a long time, everyone was quiet, their eyes gone distant and cast down or up or to the side.

“Alina....” Mal tried after a while.

I knew what he was going to say, so I didn’t give him the chance. “If you bring up the third Saints-damned amplifier one more time,” I said in a dangerously quiet voice, my eyes chips of ice, “I will kill you, hack you into small pieces, feed you to the firebird, and then watch as it defecates your remains onto a mountain just to shut you up. It is. Not. Happening.”

Zoya huffed and turned her head away. I knew she wanted to ask again why I wouldn’t take it, but at least she knew there was no point in trying. For now.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Genya exchange a long look with David, then turn back to me. “I’ll go back,” she said quietly.

My eyes snapped up to her. “You don’t have t--”

She held a hand up, and I went silent. “You said it was our choice, right?”

I nodded slowly.

“Then my choice is that I’m going back with you. I don’t agree with your plan, and don’t think you’re telling us everything, either. But if you’re determined to do this, then you’re going to need all the help you can get. Besides, no one chases me away from my home,” she finished, her voice steely.

“I’m going, too,” David said.

“Big surprise,” Zoya muttered.

Aidrik looked at Nadia, who looked back at him. Her eyes went back and forth between him and Tamar. The Shu reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as she whispered something in Nadia’s ear. Her throat bobbed, and her eyes grew damp.

“I don’t want you back there,” Nadia said quietly to her brother. “I don’t want you anywhere near him.” But the words hung in the air - they weren’t an order, they were a question.

Aidrik looked from her, to me and Mal, then off to where Tolya had disappeared with Misha. He seemed to think for a moment, then said to me, “I don’t know how much of my power I can learn to use again, but if can, I want to fight. I don’t want anyone to have to go through what we have. As long as I never have to answer to him again.”

Despite myself, I felt a lump form in my throat. I nodded at him.

“Then... I guess I’m going back, too,” Nadia said.

Tamar smiled at her. It was small, and a little sad. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to the Squaller’s cheek, then wiped a tear from it when it fell.

Zoya made a disgusted sound.

“Alina,” Harshaw began. It was halting and thoughtful. “I know you won’t tell us why you won’t kill the firebird. But can you at least tell us why you won’t tell us?”

I thought about it, and considered. I didn’t want to tell them because I didn’t want to chance anything getting back to the Darkling. If he learned the firebird wasn’t the third amplifier, he would go looking for answers, and that might lead him to Mal. If he learned there was any special reason at all other than the half-truth I’d told him, it could make him ask questions he could not find the answers to.

I sighed. “About a year ago, I was a very attractive Cartographer in the First Army.”

Zoya arched a brow.

“Look,” I said churlishly, “for people in the real world who didn’t grow up around Grisha, I was incredibly good-looking. Anyway, I was no one. A nobody. I’m pretty sure the only reason I even got promotions was because I was nice to look at.” I paused. “Before I opened my mouth, that is. Anyway, I became the Sun Summoner. I got put in black. I got told that the one man who was supposed to be helping me save the world was actually an ancient power-mad lunatic bent on destroying it. Then I was a fugitive who finally had a chance to be with the love of her life. Then I was a prisoner. Then the head of the Second Army,” I enunciated. “You all know how it went from there. I’ve changed almost beyond the point of recognition in a matter of months. Ask Mal. I nearly lost him over it, and for two and a half decades, we were family.”

I was very carefully not looking at him. I wasn’t trying to make him feel bad. He had long since taken care of that on his own, anyway, and it wasn’t part of the point I was making.

“My world has changed,” I went on. “It has been knocked down and remade over and over. I am now the most powerful Grisha who has ever lived, more powerful than the ancient Darkling, the Black Heretic, the man who created the Unsea hundreds of years ago and has only grown in power and knowledge since. I’ve gone from a human to I don’t know what, and had to come to terms with the fact that I’m going to live forever. The way I see the world now... it’s not how the Cartographer saw it. Or the Sun Summoner. It isn’t how Alina saw it. It has been a matter of months,” I repeated, “and there are already things I wouldn’t know how to begin explaining. This is one of them. All I can tell you is what I told you before. That knowing the stakes, taking the third amplifier would not be worth the consequence.”

This was met with silence, with eyes turned away in thought. Then, abruptly, Mal pushed up off the ground and paced away, coming to a stop with his arms crossed, eyes fixed on nothing. I couldn’t quite make out his expression, and he wouldn’t look at me.

I knew that if the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t give him a choice. If he was as hard-headed as I was being, I would find a way to make the decision for him. To give him what he needed, to keep him safe, to stay with him. For my life to have meant something. And I knew I was taking all of that away from him.

I had told the Darkling that I was just as selfish as he was. It hadn’t been a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *leans in and whispers loudly, “I don't even know what I’m doing anymore"*


	25. Last Time, He Tried to Eat You

In the end, only Harshaw and Ruslan wanted time to think it over. Everyone but Mal would be coming back.

He had been silent since we had all spoken. He seemed calm, but he was distant and I could tell he was agitated. I couldn’t blame him, but I couldn’t face it, either, like I could pretend it wasn’t really happening if I didn’t. But something about the look on his face bothered me. I knew I had to talk to him, but at the very least, I thought he deserved some time first. It left me feeling torn. I didn’t want to waste a single moment I had left with him, but I wasn’t in a hurry to start saying goodbye, either. I felt sick to my stomach every time I thought about it.

As dusk settled, I moved in the particles of light all around us, and Nikolai did not disappoint. I felt him approach as the sky began to darken properly, slipping to the other side of twilight. He landed on a thick branch, clutching it with his taloned feet and digging his clawed hands in, his face steady on our camp. When I looked up, I thought I could see the firelight reflecting back at us from the black mirrors of his eyes.

I didn’t say anything right away, but I felt the Darkling stir faintly in response to my nervous surge of adrenaline. For a long while, I just stared at the ground and fidgeted with a thumbnail, watching everyone else without looking at them. The mood in the camp was heavy and thoughtful, uncomfortable and a little unsettled. It was more than a little resentful. It was difficult allowing any of them to return with me. It was difficult doing this at all, knowing no one agreed with my plan. I could only be grateful that some of them were willing to support me despite that. Grateful and afraid. I had a feeling I would lean heavily on them in the months to come, that I would rely on them to keep from being swallowed whole by the Darkling and by my own power.

I wished I could count Mal among that number, and was torn between heartbreak and trying not to let myself dwell on it. I couldn’t know how much of our connection was because he was one of Morozova’s amplifiers, and it almost broke my heart, but most of me didn’t care. We were what we were, and in the end, whatever connection we had was as intractable and unexplainable as my ties to the Darkling. Yes, Mal was the final amplifier. And the Darkling had forced the stag onto my neck, had his monster bite me, and done nothing but manipulated me since I had met him. Here we were, anyway. I loved them both. I had come to accept that, at least mostly. It was just that the love I felt for one was as different from what I felt for the other as the sea was from the sky.

None of us wished for this. None of us would have. But we were here all the same. In a castle, in homes and on the road, or sitting around a campfire in the dark.

By the time night had fallen in full, Nikolai had hopped a little closer to camp. He was still well back into the treeline, but his eyes had stayed trained on us, and he had hardly moved. I wondered what he was thinking, or what he could be thinking.

I sighed, heavy and sharp and quiet, and slipped the Lantsov emerald onto my ring finger. “It’s time,” I said as I rose.

Mal stood too, fluid and graceful. “I want to talk to you first.”

“No, Mal,” I said quietly. “It’s done. I won’t change my mind.”

He stepped in and lowered his voice so only I could hear. “Then consider it a last request.”

I closed my eyes against a sharp pang, but nodded. We made our way into the trees, and after a moment, he slipped his hand into mine. It was a gesture of comfort and courage, something we had done hundreds of times for each other.

 

* * * * *

 

“Do you think things would have been different if I’d listened to you that night?” He asked quietly as we walked. “Outside your barracks.”

I knew immediately what he was talking about. It was fresh in my mind, even though it had happened what felt like a lifetime ago.

_"Do you ever wonder if things might have been different?" I asked slowly, glad he wouldn't be able to see my cheeks coloring in the low light._

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Just... I mean... you and I, I guess." I swallowed thickly. My cheeks felt like they were covered in ice and fire. "Someone was talking today, and with the crossing tomorrow, it just got me thinking. Why weren't we ever... why didn't we ever.... " I couldn't finish. I just sat staring at Mikhael and Dubrov stumbling around, hoping I looked like I couldn't care less about his answer one way or the other._

_Mal was quiet for so long I wondered if I had finally popped the tenuous little bubble I lived in when it came to him. But finally he did speak. "I used to... uh...." He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. I looked over at him and my brows shot up. Mal was nervous. Mal never got nervous. He laughed weakly. "I used to have some very..._ distracting _thoughts about you when we were younger, actually. I was a boy and all, I guess. But you weren't...." He looked at me. "You were Alina, you know? Not...." He trailed off with a wave of one hand._

_"Not what?" I asked, heart hammering too hard to care how breathless my voice sounded._

_"You were my best friend. You're closer than family. You weren't just... some girl I took for a tumble and then forgot about. You were better than that."_

_It felt like my heart stopped in my chest as I stared at him. I wasn't sure what was on my face, but whatever it was, it made his brows draw together. "I know it's weird," he said self-consciously, apologetically I thought, "but it was a long time ago. I don't think about you like that anymore, I promise. I haven't since we were children."_

He had said, _I love you, Alina. You know that, right?_

And then he had gone off to find Zoya.

We walked in silence for a little while. “The Volcra would have attacked all the same,” I said quietly.

“I know. But if you had gone there knowing….” He sighed heavily. He tried to quiet it, but the night was silent except for our feet - well, my feet - crunching over leaves and sticks.

If he had known he had feelings for me and had told me before I was taken from Kribursk that morning, would things have been different? Would I have been as susceptible to the Darkling’s manipulations? Would I have interpreted Mal’s apparent silence differently?

“I don’t know,” I replied, my voice soft and subdued. Resigned, I thought. Even a little sad. “Does thinking about it change the way things did happen?”

“No,” he finally admitted. Then he stopped abruptly and gripped my hand, stopping me too. When I faced him, he let go.

“I don’t like this, Alina. You know that.” He paused, looking at me. He didn’t so much as blink. “But if you’re dead set on it, I also know nothing will change your mind. So if you feel… If you think you _know_ this is the right thing to do, then ok. Ok, I get it. But I’m not letting you do it alone, and I am not leaving you to go back there, with him, by yourself.” He paused again, and I knew I wasn’t going to like what he had to say next. “I’ve talked to Genya. She can keep me tailored so no one--”

I cut him off. “He’ll find out, Mal. You know he will.”

“I swore I would protect you.”

“You swore to be what I needed,” I corrected gently. “And what I need is to know that,” my words choked off, unexpected emotion constricting my throat. “That part of me is what it used to be. You. I need to know you’re out there, living your life.”

I’d said almost the exact same thing to the Darkling in Kribursk, after he’d had the antlers fastened around my neck. My collar, for all eternity.

_Mal is the reason I'm alive. He's saved my life before and after I met you. I grew up with him. If there is anything good in me, anything worth wanting, it comes from him. I need to know he's out there in the world somewhere, living his life, even if I never see him again._

Pain at the thought had lanced me then, just like it did now.

Scant feet away, Mal let out a harsh laugh and shook his head. “You know that isn’t going to happen. Not without you.”

“It's been the plan for a long time now. It was what you were prepared to do before.”

“Not to see you go to _him,_ Alina,” he said harshly. “Not to him. This is giving up, I don’t care how you justify it or what else you call it.”

“This is evolving. You were the one to back away first, because you said maybe I was meant for something more. That isn’t wrong just because it doesn’t look like what you planned.”

I saw him take a moment to bite back his temper. When he spoke, his voice was level and even. “You are letting him manipulate you, and that’s all he’s going to keep doing. You think that because you know he’s doing it, you’re prepared. But he has been at this for hundreds of years. Whatever it is in you that’s pulling you to him, _he put it there.”_

I looked at him sadly. “No, Mal,” I whispered. I hesitated, because I had never said the next words out loud. “I felt it before the antlers. Before the bite. I just wrote it off as a dozen different things. I _don’t_ think I know what I’m doing. I _am_ afraid. But I still know this is the right thing to do. This is what forward looks like.”

“So this… we’re just never going to see each other again?” He demanded. “Ever?” He made a harsh noise. “Will you be _permitted_ to go to a service when I die? If he doesn’t get to me first and finish what he started on the Fold?”

I didn’t know what to say. Everything, every single thing in me hurt, and he was bringing to a head all the things I didn’t want to look at, didn’t want to think about. So I just took a step forward and raised my hand toward his face, hesitating partway, uncertain as I hadn’t felt around him in what seemed like years. My fingers hung there, not reaching out and not pulling back.

He shook his head, then parted his lips like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. I saw a shift in his eyes, and he leaned in. He pressed a soft, tender kiss to my forehead. He took a deep breath through his nose.

He moved, so slowly, to my lips. It wasn’t passionate. It wasn’t heated. Mal kissed me like I was the most precious, sacred thing in all the world. In any world.

Something in me snapped, some floodgate opened, and I put my hands on the back of his neck and gripped hard, pulling him in. I tried to deepen the kiss. But he stayed soft and gentle against me. Something between a hiccough and a keen rumbled in my throat and I started to cry. I fell apart against his lips, and all he did was pull me to him and hold me there, my head tucked under his chin.

Part of me wanted to scream at him. When had he become so even and level? When had he turned into this steady person? And why, now that I was seeing it, did this have to be the end? I didn’t know what would be more difficult: him, having to either stay away altogether or to watch from a distance, or me, knowing he was out there doing it. Would he move on? Would he track, or go back to the army, or leave Ravka and never return? Would he find someone and marry? Would he have children?

Children. Saints. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t, I knew that much. He wouldn’t risk passing on Morozova’s last gift. Would he?

When my tears started turning into coughs, he pulled back enough to gently push the hair from my face and wipe some of the wetness from my cheeks. He used the hem of his shirt to clean under my nose. Then he pulled me back in and murmured soft words, running his fingers through my hair, letting the cool air touch my scalp.

When the worst of it had passed, when I could breathe normally again and my face didn’t feel hot and blotchy, when I could speak without sounding like I had a head cold, he leaned back, just enough to look at me. He stroked my face gently, then stepped back and held out his hand. I thought his own eyes looked a little wet.

“Come on,” he said. His voice turned light. “Last time you were alone with Nikolai, he tried to eat you. I’ll walk you over.”

There was a game we’d sometimes played as children, when we snuck out in the dark. I would make a little trail of light and weave it over the ground and through the leaves and grasses like a snake for him to follow. I did it again now, but the trail moved as slowly as we did, in no hurry to see us to our destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's short. I debated holding it back until the next chapter was ready and doing a double post, but then I thought if I was a reader, I'd rather have a short something than more nothing.
> 
> While you're here, help me out. Ruslan. I had hopes for him, but I feel like he’s become sort of a non-entity. Would anyone have an objection to me writing him out of the story? It'd be a back-write where he dies during the Little Palace attack. His few lines after would be given to other people.


	26. Hungry

I told Mal I wasn’t certain how Nikolai would react to anyone but me, so when we got close, he hung back. I softened the light around me and went on alone.

Nikolai was perched in a massive dead tree on an old, gnarled branch. It creaked and jounced with his every movement, small flakes of bark crumbling away like dust whenever he shifted. All that was left of the clothing he’d worn that last morning on the Spinning Wheel was his trousers, torn and ragged, stained with dirt and blood. In places they were nothing more than strips of shredded cloth, many ripped away, one all the way up to his thigh.

I stopped a little way out from his tree and looked up at him, moving the Lantsov emerald to my ring finger. Quietly, I said, “Hello, Nikolai.” I brought my hand up to rest just below the antlers, intending to summon a fleck of gentle light into the gem, but his eyes were already on it.

“I know how to help you now,” I said.

He jumped down from the branch and landed a few short feet away, his eyes rapt on my face. His fingers twitched.

I gave him a careful smile, then said, “Let me get ready.”

With a shaky breath, I closed my eyes, reached out to the Darkling, and beckoned. He appeared instantly at my side, and the relief I felt the moment he was there was impossible to ignore. It was like the feeling I’d had long ago at the Little Palace, after the Apparat had ambushed me in the infirmary and I had made it to my room and locked the door behind me. It was like the first time Mal and I had embraced after every hunt he’d gone on when we had been at Keramzin.

I barely had a chance to wonder if the Darkling felt anything like it, too, when I felt its echo in him. It was groomed and controlled, and like me, a part of him hated it. But it was there. In fact, it made something ferocious stir, something I was beginning to recognize: the consequence of having felt so little for so long, as if every gray moment in his life, every feeling missed, was piling onto him all at once. It was subdued and blown wide at the same time, like a black, crackling storm minutes from blowing in overhead.

He noticed the ring on my finger.

“It’s how he knows me,” I said under my breath. “Now shut up and help. Baby.” I muttered the last part to myself.

The muscles around his eyes tightened for a moment. “Hold your hand out toward him like you’re going to summon,” he instructed.

I stepped back to make room and did as he said, my palm toward Nikolai. The Darkling put his hand over mine and twined our fingers. I felt him want to warn me again what would happen if this was a trick, that bite of aggravation, that sting of brief fear, but he knew it wasn’t. We were growing transparent as glass to one another.

I focused on Nikolai and didn’t let myself think about it.

All at once, I felt the Darkling’s presence rush into of me, as if a piece of him was stepping into my body. I jerked and gasped, but had no time for any other reaction, because Nikolai went rigid. His head snapped back and his mouth open like he needed to scream, but couldn’t. I felt a lick of panic. But the Darkling was calm. There was hatred in him, but new no blooming malice, no sense of a betrayal being played out through me. As if to reassure me, the black veins on Nikolai’s chest began to recede.

I got lost, feeling the way the Darkling used his power. I thought my own had grown effortless, but how he wove this, when he wasn’t even here, was worlds unto itself. It was exactly as Baghra had always told me: an extension of him, as effortless and automatic as breathing.

I felt it then, the difference in power between us. His well was vast, and though mine was larger still, I suddenly knew beyond any doubt that I had been right. I couldn’t beat him. Not as I was now. I was nothing to this, I was less than nothing, awkward and dangerous and raw. I understood. Every bit of progress I had made in the last months was like trying to walk out onto a lake in late Autumn, expecting its surface to hold my weight when all that had formed was fingers of frost. Sheer luck.

The Darkling was a man, small in more ways than he wanted to believe, smaller even than some who had barely begun their lives. But inside him lived something infinite, something that reached beyond time or place, something that knew the hidden parts of the world and things about men and power that I could not conceive of.

I was pulled back out of myself when I felt the Darkling’s power, _my_ power, surge, and inky blackness began pulling out of Nikolai’s mouth, at first in small skeins, and then a great mass, dissipating to nothing in the air as it did. So quickly that it seemed dangerous, the black veins pulled back from his chest and hands, then up his arms. His talons receded, shortening to nails. His teeth shrank, his wings shriveled, and his face cleared. When all traces of it were gone from him, he slumped forward, and the darkness finally seeped away from his eyes, too. It shrank down and drained away until only the pupils remained, whole and natural as they had been before all of this.

The instant it was one, Nikolai plummeted to his hands and knees, trembling as if in a fever or a terrible cold. I rushed forward and dropped in front of him, but at the last moment, hesitated to reach out. Would touching him now cause him pain? How did you comfort someone who had just come back from being used by such evil?

The Darkling stood by, watching coldly and impassively.

“Nikolai?” I whispered.

He looked up. The effort it took to do just that much was apparent, and it was several tries before he was able to croak, “Alina?” His voice was husky and damaged. He looked lost and out of place.

I reached out, I couldn’t help it. My fingertips brushing his shoulder tentatively. Then suddenly, his arms were pulling me down, wrapping around me and holding almost painfully tight. He buried his face in my shoulder. From the Darkling, I felt a stab of anger, or maybe it was disgust. Gently, I returned Nikolai’s embrace.

“You’re ok,” I whispered, so quiet only he could hear. “You’re back, Nikolai. You’re back.”

 

* * * * *

 

The Darkling followed us back to camp. As we neared, Nikolai seemed to pull himself up, to will the shaking in his hands to stop. When we entered the ring of firelight, the others rose to their feet one by one. I shook my head at them and walked Nikolai to the nearest tent. I was worried he wouldn’t want to be left alone, but at the entrance, he said, “Thank you. We’ll get some rest and talk in the morning, shall we?” and ducked inside. His voice was split, dry like sand.

“We’ll be on watch all night,” I told him through the canvas.

“Understood.” He said it like he was talking to someone on his crew.

When I finally looked at the Darkling, he turned and walked toward the trees. I narrowed my eyes, but told the others, “I’ll be back,” and let a gentle glow bloom over my head.

When he stopped, he didn’t turn around.

“If this is a trick--” he began lightly.

“Oh what,” I snapped, so far beyond spent I couldn’t have found words for it. “Am I going to hide the invading army in my trousers? Don’t pretend for a second you’re not getting the better end of this. You’re getting everything you want.” He turned around, and at the look behind his eyes, I repeated, “Yes. Everything. So stuff it.”

He watched me. I felt something shift deep under my skin, probing, and took an involuntary step back, a jerk. Satisfaction spread through his eyes and didn’t diminish, not even at the glare in mine.

He walked forward to stand inches away, like it was easy, like it was his right. That thing inside of me, that piece of him, pushed again, and I found I knew what it was saying. But I couldn’t put it to words. I was afraid to.

“We will find a way to work together,” he murmured. I didn’t believe him, but it was a start. “I don’t imagine it will be easy. Not at first. But we have time.”

He leaned in until his lips brushed my ear. “You can’t possibly understand yet how long I have waited for you, Alina. How I have earned you. You think you’re taking the risk coming back. The truth is, until the day when you need me every bit as much as I want you, you won’t understand what true risk is. But that day will come, and sooner than you might think.”

The Darkling pressed a lingering kiss just below my ear, then another to the crook of my neck, just above the antlers.

His last words seemed to echo on the air when he vanished: “Tomorrow morning.”

 

* * * * *

 

I barely slept, and from the way the others looked as they trickled from their tents, I didn’t think anyone else had fared much better.

Nikolai had circles under his eyes that hadn’t been there the night before. His shredded trousers had been discarded and he was dressed in Mal’s spare set of clothing, the shirt tucked in neatly, and despite the warmth, his hands were gloved.

Once breakfast was roasting over the fire, he got straight to business. Aside from Harshaw, who had wandered off muttering to Oncat, and Aidrik, who had volunteered to keep Misha busy, all of us were gathered together. My army.

We filled Nikolai in on everything that had happened since the Spinning Wheel, and told him how much time had passed. He listened in silence, only occasionally asking questions. I had only seen him this serious once before, but given what he had just been through, I couldn’t be certain if his demeanor was meant to be some way of protecting himself, if he was reacting to the gravity of the situation, or some combination of both. I was worried about him. We all were.

When we got to the deal I’d made with the Darkling, I took over. Once I had finished, Nikolai looked at me and asked with unsettling calm, as if he were merely curious, “You want to give up?”

“No,” I said immediately. “I want to adapt. We don’t have the numbers, Nikolai, or the experience, or the stamina. Not like he does. Every time we think we have a plan, he shatters it. The harder we’ve fought, the harder _I’ve_ fought, the more it has cost Ravka in lives and land we may never get back. I don’t want any more blood on my hands.”

“What about the Cathedral? He never found it. Neither did I, for that matter.”

“I don’t trust the Apparat as far as I can spit. Preferably on him.”

“To be fair,” Mal piped in, “you can spit pretty far.”

“And you’re sitting well within range,” I warned.

Nikolai asked, “What about the troops you requested?”

I laughed, quiet and dry. “The Darkling didn’t ask when to expect me, so I can’t see why a delay of a few days should matter. But even if the Apparat sends everyone he has, it still won’t be enough. I saw what he called an ‘army.’ So unless you have another secret stronghold, piles of money and weapons, and a few thousand soldiers hidden nearby….” I trailed off.

The look on Nikolai’s face told me all I needed to know. I didn’t doubt he had other secrets hidden throughout Ravka, and probably outside of it, too, but the Spinning Wheel had been our last fortress. For all intents and purposes, the resistance was down to a handful of Grisha, an otkazat’sya blessed and cursed with merzost, and a prince who had been swallowed by darkness and lived.

Finally, Nikolai said, “When we meet the Soldat Sol, their numbers will inform our decision.”

Nadia stiffened. “You can’t be serious.”

“Do you have a spare army lying around?” He turned his gaze on Mal. “Weapons, food, horses and supplies?” To everyone, he said, “I don’t want to surrender any more than any of you do, but my responsibility is to Ravka and her people. As inconvenient as it may be, Alina is right.

“I’m not giving up. Armies aren’t the only way to wage a war, but I have to consider the possibility that a treaty stands a better chance of getting us what we want than ramming into a wall over and over in nothing but our church clothes and just hoping it budges. Even then….” He stopped and glanced at me. “Tell me more about this tie you have to him.”

We spent most of the rest of the day like that, going back and forth, exchanging information, even arguing. More than once when we took a break, I hoped Nikolai might ask to speak to me privately, to… I didn’t know what. Share his feelings? The truth was, he’d been through something none of us could really understand. I wasn’t convinced he could deal with it on its own, but for now, if space was what he wanted, that was what we would give him. I made sure the others understood that. Zoya hit Adrik upside the head to get him to stop staring once, but that was the worst of it.

 

* * * * *

 

It wasn’t until that night when we started discussing our plans to meet the Soldat Sol outside Caryeva that I realized I’d forgotten something. The Bittern. With the airship, we would be back in Os Alta in a matter of days. Not weeks. Not a month. Days.

Before the week was out, I would say goodbye to my best friend, to the person who knew me better than anyone else ever would, and I would never see him again. He was the first man I had ever loved, and I knew that as long as I lived, I would always love him. That he would always hold a piece of me no one, especially not the Darkling, could ever really understand.

 _Dlya Ravka._ For Ravka. For her people, for the war, and for a man I didn’t even trust.

I stood up, sucking in an unsteady breath, and almost bolted for the trees.

“Alina?” Mal asked.

“Stay there,” I ordered harshly. My voice was uneven and rough, and I knew he would hear the tears in it.

The truth was, Mal was the only thing I wanted right then, and it was stupid to deny us a single minute of the time we had left. But if I was going to survive this, I had to stop relying on him. There couldn’t be an Alina and Mal anymore, and somehow, I was going to have to find a way to accept that.

The Darkling wasn’t whole. Maybe this way I would be better prepared to match him, because I didn’t think I could say goodbye to Mal and keep every part of myself alive. I knew I couldn’t.

The Darkling felt the pain careening through me, so when he appeared, I wasn’t surprised. Tears were streaking down my face, and my forearms were braced against the rough bark of a tree while I was trying to remember how to breathe. He walked up behind me and turned me around.

I balked, but he pulled me to himself anyway. I wanted to shove him away, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. So I just stood there, and I lost myself in him.

Reaching for me hadn’t even been intentional. He had come, felt the pain searing through me, and he had reacted. It reminded him of that night at the Grand Palace when he’d dragged me off after the fete. It reminded him of the unexpected feeling the first time he’d kissed me, and of his fury all the times I had turned my back on him. Of the pain he had felt underneath, if he allowed it.

He wasn’t used to his emotions getting the better of him. More than that, though, he couldn’t have been prepared for the intensity of mine. He had not felt so strongly in hundreds of years, but part of him remembered what it was to have everything feel so immediate and sharp. He hated it. He resented me for it. And still, all he had been able to do when he had come upon me like this was reach out.

My fingers found his kefta and turned to claws in its fabric. He let the bridge of his nose sink to my hair. He breathed me in.

I whispered, “When this is done….” It took me time to go on, and when I did, my voice was broken. Pleading. “Tell me it will be worth it.”

His hands swept the sides of my head, coming to rest on my face. He angled it up so our eyes met. “You cannot imagine the world we will create, Alina,” he said. “The peace it will know under our care. The losses will hurt, but you will not be alone through them.”

I stood, frozen between wanting to want to push him away, and needing the certainty coming from him. It was as if he were a pillar in a timeworn cathedral, weathered and ancient and forgotten, but unbroken, solid and sure.

The Darkling wasn’t a person. Not like I had ever known, not like anything I’d ever thought the word meant. I wasn’t certain I knew what he was. Maybe he didn’t, either. What unsettled me most, though, was that the storm which had driven me out here, the pain of knowing I was days from losing a piece of myself, was stilling because of him. As if he was absorbing the worst of it just by standing in front of me and touching me.

I hated myself, and I hated him, and both of those were only true because, in the midst of everything else I was feeling, I knew I was shifting away from anything I had ever known and everything, _everyone_ I had ever been. I felt them all crumbling, the things I had thought I would be or could be, and all the things I had ever thought I was. The Sun Summoner. The orphan, the soldier. The friend, the child, the leader. Even the pawn.

I stood at the lip of a great chasm, bottomless and infinite in its breadth and scope, and I knew that every step of my life had only ever brought me closer to it. There had never been anywhere else I could have ended up, because this was my place, an eternity, a reality no one else could earn, or deserve, whether in reward or punishment. No otkazat’sya, no Grisha.

Except one.

Whatever the Darkling was, whatever I was becoming, there and then I took a step toward him and away from Mal. Away from my friends, away from anything I had ever known. And that, too, had always been waiting for me.

The Darkling stroked his knuckles across the side of my face, and in his pale, measured eyes, I saw understanding, as if he were standing at that chasm with me, watching me open my eyes and truly see it for the first time.

He leaned in, and when he kissed me, slow and certain, some eternal thing in my chest cracked open. Time, power, and whatever it was that made people more than their bodies all overflowed and spilled out.

Suddenly and urgently, I wanted him. I wanted him to push me against the tree at my back and take me like that.

He did.

It was hard to be quiet. It was hard to keep enough of my mind to pay attention and make sure no one came looking for me. More than once, I had to cover my mouth to muffle sounds I hardly recognized.

I was being born. And when it was done, I felt as different as I had after the first time. He stood, one of my legs still crooked over his arm, pressing kisses to my skin.

I was his, as he had been mine from the moment our eyes had first met. Whatever that meant and whatever it would mean, it was something we both knew now. There was no going back.

When he left, it was a long time before I could go back to camp, before I could find the earth under my feet.

 

* * * * *

 

We left early the next morning and crossed back through Dva Stolba to retrieve the Bittern from the quarry. It was strange to see it sitting where we’d left it, tucked safely away like a pigeon in the eaves.

“Saints,” said Adrik as we clambered into the hulls. “Is that my blood?”

The stain was nearly as big as he was. We’d all been so tired and beaten after our long escape from the Spinning Wheel that no one had even thought to deal with it.

“You made the mess,” said Zoya. “You clean it up.”

“Need two hands to swab,” Adrik retorted, taking a place at the sails instead.

Adrik seemed to relish Zoya’s taunts over Nadia’s constant fussing. I’d been relieved to learn that he could still summon, though it would take some time for him to be able to control strong currents with just one arm. _Baghra could teach him._ The thought came at me before I remembered that was no longer possible. I could almost hear her voice in my head: _Should I cut off your other arm? Then you’d have something to whine about. Do it again and do it better._ What would she have made of all of this? What would she have made of Mal? I pushed the thought away. I would never know, and there was no time for mourning.

Once we were in the air, the Squallers set a gentle pace and I sat on the deck against the railing, tipped my head to the sky, and closed my eyes. I felt Mal’s presence keenly everywhere he went, from speaking to Nikolai, to checking the sails, to practicing swordplay with Misha. When I’d finally returned to camp last night, I’d gone straight to my tent without so much as a glance at anyone. Since then, he spent as much time covertly studying me as he had doing anything else. He kept his distance, but I knew that was getting more and more difficult.

The journey took only a few hours, and we landed in a marshy pasture west of Caryeva, where Vasily had spent so much time during the summer horse sales every year. It wasn’t known for anything but its racing track and its breeding stables, and even without the war, this late in the year, it would have been all but deserted.

The missive to the Apparat had instructed that we meet at the racecourse. Tamar and Harshaw would scout the track on foot to make sure we weren’t walking into a trap. If anything felt wrong, they’d circle back to meet us, and we’d decide what to do from there. I felt so unsteady, I wasn’t sure I could be counted on to do it myself. There was a chance, however slim, that the Apparat would turn us over to the Darkling, but at this point that would end much worse for him than it might for us. But there was also the possibility that he’d struck some kind of new bargain with the Shu Han or Fjerda, or that he might have gotten some fool idea into his head to try to recapture me.

We were a day early, which left me with much more free time than I would have preferred.

The Darkling appeared often, though most of the time it was only a fleeting moment spent looking at me in silence, or a nudge inside of me that let me know he was paying attention. I supposed it should have reminded me of the days and nights he’d spent haunting me at the Little Palace, but I could see a dozen expressions in his still face at any given moment now, and the truth was, every time I felt him or saw him, I felt a little less like I was splitting down the middle.

The next morning, I wasn’t certain what I wanted us to find in Caryeva. A makeshift army? The Apparat? No one at all? But that wasn’t what truly bothered me. I had to face the knowledge that even if by some miracle the priest sent every soldier he had, and even if they were truly able to fight, I wasn’t going to change my mind.

Nadia and Adrik unfurled one of the sails so she could help him learn to manage updraft, and Zoya sprawled lazily on the deck to offer less than helpful critique. Meanwhile, Nikolai, Genya, and David bent their heads over one of the Fabrikator’s notebooks, trying to come up with anything we - _they_ \- might be able to use against the Darkling and figure out where they could extract any necessary components. It turned out Genya didn’t just have a gift for poisons. Her talents had always lain somewhere between Corporalnik and Materialnik, but I wondered what she might have become, what path she might have taken, if not for the Darkling’s influence. The same could be said for all of us, I supposed.

Mal and Misha headed to the far side of the field with arms full of pinecones and set them along the fence as targets so Misha could learn to shoot. That left me and Tolya with nothing to do but worry and wait. He sat down beside me on one of the hulls, legs dangling over. I was watching the Darkling, who stood in the field watching me. It was the longest he’d stayed by far since our last night together. I trusted he couldn’t make out the details of the Bittern, but he saw enough of the ship that if not for the fact that we were obviously on land, he would have been furious.

“Do you want to talk?” Toyla asked.

“You talk?” I joked halfheartedly.

He shrugged. “When I have something to say. But I listen well, too. And I keep secrets.”

“I can certainly vouch for that.” I sighed and admitted, “I probably should talk.” I hadn’t looked away from the Darkling yet. I couldn’t, as if I was drinking him in.

A long moment passed in silence, and Tolya guessed, “But you’re not going to, are you?” He paused. “You need the Firebird. It belongs with you.”

That got my attention, and I finally tore my eyes away from the Darkling.

“I don’t like your plan,” he said simply.

“You’re on the popular side of the club, then.”

“I know there are things we can’t understand. I also know what it looks like when someone is taking too much on, holding it too close. I know what it looks like when you’re doing that. We knew you were coming apart at the Little Palace, we just didn’t know what to do. And now, you’re changing so quickly. Almost every morning there’s a difference in you. But I don’t want to stay silent this time.”

He paused and looked out to where Mal and Misha were practicing. “When this is over, what are you going to do about the Shadow Fold? Even if peace is made, it will remain.” That felt like the first in a long line of questions he wanted to ask, or points he wanted to make.

I shrugged. “We have plans to handle it.”

“You trust him?”

“I trust him to act in his own self interest if nothing else. That means doing the bare minimum to keep Ravka secure and to keep me from revolting.” The Darkling was too far away to make out what I was saying. If he could hear it, I would be feeling a reaction.

“Glad to hear it,” a bright voice said from behind us, “I was starting to worry you’d lost all sense.” It was Nikolai. He walked up and gave Tolya a nod. “May I cut in?”

The giant man pumped his legs and dropped to the ground. He looked up and me and said, “I know you don’t have the faith that Tamar and I do. I know you don’t believe as we do, but no matter how this ends, I’m glad our faith brought us to you.”

He headed off across the field to join Mal and Misha.

Whether it was coincidence or providence that had made Tolya and Tamar my friends, I was grateful for them. Not long ago, if I had been honest with myself, I would have said I envied their faith. If I could have believed I had been blessed by some predetermined divine purpose, it might have made me feel less like I had been lost at sea and so uncertain of every decision I had made. I didn’t feel like that anymore.

I glanced at the Darkling, then quickly away, and felt a furrow in my brow.

Nikolai stood at the railing, hands clasped behind his back.

“Lost all sense?” I grumbled at him. “You said you liked my plan.”

“I said it might be our best option. There can be a world of difference between the two. Like now, for instance.”

“I’m beginning to feel overwhelmed by the votes of confidence.”

“Might I suggest considering the argument if everyone you trust is making the same one?”

“Not so smart, then. Not if you think I haven’t. We have nothing left, Nikolai, and you know it. They just think one last push will be enough. _If_ we’re clever enough, _if_ we’re fast enough, _if_ everything goes just right. We’ve tried that a few times, now, and I don’t have to tell you how it worked out for us. The world isn’t as simple as good winning and evil losing. I’m not so certain the world is as simple as good and evil, period. The lines between the two are blurring more every day.” I was talking half to myself by the end.

“What about right and wrong, then?”

“You’re a funny one to be making that argument. But it’s a better one, at least.

“He won’t stop. And as much they might want to argue, the others know it just as well as I do. That’s why they want so much to make one last stand.” Because no part of them could believe that this truce with him wasn’t a complete fabrication. A ploy. I couldn’t blame them. “If one of us doesn’t stop, there won’t be anything left, and you and I both know it’s not going to be him that goes first. He’ll just keep pushing and searching and cutting down anyone in his way. The direct approach didn’t work. Neither did the secret one. You weren’t here, I had to get creative.”

Nikolai lowered his voice. “Alina… is he here right now?”

I glanced over to find him scanning the area where the Darkling stood. I had been starting at him again.

“Yes,” I said. “He’s too far away to hear anything, though. He’s just… watching.”

“How wonderfully unsettling.” He paused. “Can he read lips?”

“If he could, I’d have felt some kind of reaction to what I was saying by now. Or to the fact that you’re standing so close,” I muttered under my breath, surly. But I bumped his shoulder with mine.

“Is that what has you so certain he means it? The connection?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly. “But it’s not just that.”

I recounted what had happened in my chambers the night before Nikolai’s birthday in Os Alta, before the Darkling’s invasion, when he had come to me as I slept. “He didn’t look like Mal to unnerve me. It wasn’t a battle strategy. He did it because he knew that was the only way I would let him get that close. It was the same thing when he said ‘Soon.’ There was a chance, however slim, that I might put it together, and he doesn’t take uncalculated risks. Unless he’s emotional. It was like he was making a promise to himself when he said it. And….” For a long moment, I went quiet. It was so hard to even think about making these words come. I glanced around, and when I was certain no one was nearby, I quietly told him what had happened the night I’d gone to the Darkling to negotiate.

He withdrew, and then became unreadable. I had to look away.

“That tether vanished,” I finished. I was pulling into myself, afraid of the condemnation that I knew must be coming. “It dissolved into open air, and now, I don’t honestly think he could lie to me if he wanted to.

“It’s new, to both of us. Before, I would get pieces of feelings from him sometimes, if they were strong enough. Now I bet I could tell you everything he feels moment to moment from hundreds of miles away if I had to. Sometimes I even think I’m getting something almost like thoughts from him.”

Nikolai went unnervingly still, and I shook my head. “No, not literally. It’s more like... impressions? And I don’t think either of us could try to dip into the other’s head without them knowing. Every move, every shift… I feel it.” What I didn’t tell him was, _Sometimes I feel blurred at the edges, like I can’t figure out where I stop anymore._ The rest was damning enough without it.

“That’s why this is possible,” I went on. “He can’t lie to me, and I can’t lie to him. He has reservations even with that, though. He watches me like a hawk, waiting for the other shoe to drop. That’s part of why he’s here now. Mostly though, he’s just… hungry.” Nikolai pulled a face, and I laughed quietly. “Not like that.” Mostly. “The funny part? While I feel all of that running through him, about the trust? I feel him knowing it isn’t a trick, too.”

Nikolai scrutinized my face in silence. Finally, he said, “Alright.” It seemed like he was really considering this, not just going along with it. No one else had. “I still think we should get you the Firebird before we consider going back, but I also know no one can force that on you. So. What happens when the Darkling has you and he doesn’t have to play nice anymore?”

I smiled at him, the curl of my lips sharp. “Once he gets Ravka, he still has to deal with me. For hundreds, if not thousands of years. After as many times as I’ve fought and run and resisted, no matter the stakes, he knows I will raise hell to stand up for something if I feel like I need to. And the closer to him I am, the better position I’m in to do it. Getting me isn’t the real trick, and he knows it. Keeping me is.

“I don’t think for a moment anything about this will be easy, what with not being a complete idiot. He’s going to be trying to influence me from the moment I walk in the door. But that’s what all of you will be there for.” I gave him an uncertain smile. “You won’t let me forget, and for the whole of my first lifetime, you’ll be watching and helping and arguing. With that as my foundation…. I have hope, Nikolai,” I said, simple and honest. “And that’s not a small thing, especially not right now.”

His lips pursed and he leaned into the railing, his weight on his forearms. His hands dangled freely, wrapped in the rough gloves I hadn’t seen him without since the night he’d come back. I looked at them, frowning.

“Speaking of fearful secrets,” I said lightly, “how much longer are you going to keep hiding your hands?” ”

He went tight for a moment, then all at once the starch seemed to go out of him. He glanced around, and when he had assured himself everyone else was occupied, pulled one of the gloves off, one finger at a time. I saw the smallest tremble in his hands as he did.

Nikolai’s hand was marred with nicks and cuts. Faint black lines ran along each of his fingers where claws had shoved their way through his skin, the wounds healing, but still raw in places. The rest of the markings seemed to have faded, but that didn’t stop a swell of anger from rising up in me. This was not an accident.

Gingerly, I laid my hand over Nikolai’s. His fingers twitched under mine like he wanted to pull away, but he stayed where he was. I reached into him with my power, but felt no remnants of darkness, nothing of the shadow I had tried and failed to banish on my own. I felt a look of confusion on my face.

“Good news, then?” He asked.

I looked up at the Darkling, my eyes stony, and said, “Come here.”

Nikolai looked up in alarm. “You said he couldn’t hear us.”

“He can’t,” I said, “but he’ll get the message.”

“Alina--”

“He agreed to take it out of you, Nikolai.”

The legendary sea captain Sturmhond, strategist and unrelenting soldier, tacit King of Ravka, took a single step back.

I laid a hand on his arm, my face and voice softening. “Trust me? Please.”

Something in his eyes shifted, and I expected him to go tight, but instead, he appeared to relax. I recognized something of his old, easy charm, his confidence, in the way he stood.

I watched the Darkling approach. When he stood at our feet, I looked over at Nikolai and held a hand out, asking his permission.

“He can’t see me?” he asked.

“You’re close, so he can, but not clearly. It’s the same with your voice. This,” I nodded down at my hand, “will let him see you as well as I do.”

“Well then,” he said with a smile, “Shall we?” He put his hand in mine.

I smiled back, then turned to the Darkling, my face going hard. “What is this?”

His eyes barely skimmed over Nikolai. “Did you expect him to be unaffected by his experience?”

“His ‘experience?’” I growled. “Don’t give me that.”

“Some things cannot be undone, Alina. Just as the bite on your shoulder will never fully heal, the boy will be left with a reminder of what it is to cross me.”

I looked down at him, feeling a perfect mask of dangerous calm slip into place. “Like your mother was?”

Hot anger flared up in him alongside pain.

Before he could reply, I cut over him, my voice callous. “Leave.”

He watched me for a long moment. There was something almost like a challenge in him, but I didn’t care. And then he was simply gone. A piece of him lingered conscious in me, but the rest of him was back with his body.

I sighed and closed my eyes. “Ass,” I muttered.

“Very good news, then,” Nikolai guessed.

I recounted the Darkling’s claim, and Nikolai looked down at his bare hand. “I suppose I can’t be entirely surprised. It’s poetic irony and a constant implied threat all in one. That does sound like the man we know and loathe. Well, most of us.”

“Oh, I loathe him, I assure you,” I said darkly. That just wasn’t most of what I felt anymore.

To distract myself from the thought, I asked, “So... you believe him?”

“Don’t you?”

“No,” I said as if insulted. “At least, I don’t want to.” With great reluctance, I said, “But it felt like he was telling the truth.”

He sighed quietly and tipped his head back to look at the blue sky.

“I’m sorry, Nikolai,” I said quietly.

“Oh,” he said, “I don’t blame you.” He turned a shadow of his normally dazzling smile on me, sadness tinged in his eyes. I knew he meant it, but that didn’t make me feel any better.

After a time, I asked him gently, “What do you remember?”

He looked out over the field around the ship. “Words.” It was like he was changing the subject. “When I was... I would see signs in store windows, writing on crates. I couldn’t understand them, but I remembered enough to know that they were more than scratches on a wall.”

“What else?” I asked softly.

His hazel eyes were distant. “Too much. I... I can still feel that darkness inside me. This… thing.” He tapped his chest. “I keep thinking it will go, but—”

“But it stays,” I finished. “Like a shadow next to your heart.” I paused, then so quietly I wasn’t certain I wanted him to hear, said, “You can hate it and hunger for it at the same time.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “This isn’t what people want of a king, what they’re going to expect from me.”

“I think a scarred King might be exactly what we need,” I said. “Ravka has survived a lot. Now, so have you. We’ve been lead for too long by people who didn’t know what it was to be uncertain of any future. Your scars will remind you.” The skin of my bare wrist practically throbbed. “Just give yourself a chance to heal.”

Absently, I traced a finger along the scar that ran the width of my neck. “This doesn’t change who you are. And if you get lost for a little while, you’ll have people there to remind you, and to help you find your way back.”

He laughed to himself. “We make quite the pair. Well, I like to think we always did, but moreso now.”

I had the terrible feeling that part of me was glad for what had happened to Nikolai, because it meant I wasn’t alone now in knowing what it felt to be invaded by a power not my own. To be taken over and controlled and to realize there would never truly be an end to it.

 _There is no ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’ for you and I, only ‘is’ and ‘isn’t,’_ the Darkling had once told me. _The longer you carry on the lie of the small Alina who kept herself hidden inside an otkazat'sya's life, the more you cling to it out of fear, out of desire, out of anger, the worse this will all be. You have a long, long life ahead of you, Alina, and your power is only going to grow. If you can't come to terms with what you are, the world will not survive you._

Nikolai went on. “Everyone is watching. They need reassurance. Even if your plan is the best option, if anything goes wrong, it won’t be long before the Fjerdans or the Shu try to move against Ravka. And if it all goes right, it may just make the risk from Fjerda that much worse. We don’t know what kind of deal the Darkling made with them, but it must have been something impressive to get them to help him.”

“I thought you were waiting to see what sort of force the Apparat was sending?”

He looked down and pulled his glove back on. “Untrained men and boys. I’m nothing if not pragmatic, Alina.”

Wryly, I said, “Fortunately, you’ll have a fairly competent strategist with an extensive resume on your side, plus two legendary Grisha and a holy icon. Did you know they’ve been building shrines to me in Fjerda for months? And of course that’s not counting my considerable moral support.”

He gave me a droll smile. “Somehow I don’t think your fiancé will favor us spending a good deal of time together.”

I felt my face drop. Fiancé? The Darkling didn’t strike me as the type for wedding vows, but did he expect…? And what did I want?

Something obviously showed on my face, because Nikolai put a gentle hand on my arm. “I wish I could tell you we would find another way, Alina. But the more I consider all the angles, the more I’m starting to believe you might be onto something. It’s dangerous and it’s foolish, but if it can keep Ravka whole….” He trailed off. Then his voice went chipper. “I expect everything to go horribly wrong, of course, but--”

“But it wouldn’t be you if you didn’t have a plan for every eventuality. Plus, you’re not an idiot, either.” I put my hand over his tucked my fingers around it. “But I know what you’re saying, and I appreciate it.” I hesitated. “Part of me does feel like I’m marching to the gallows. But the truth is, I want someone who can understand me, too. Maybe I’m just as afraid of being alone as he is.”

His eyes went distant again. “To be understood….” he murmured as if to himself. Then he smiled at me. It seemed genuine, but there was pain behind his eyes. “It will be good to have you there.”

I got so lost in his expression that I had to give myself a shake. “Of course it will. I’m delightful. But my point was, no one is going to be quick to attack, not with the Darkling and the Sun Summoner standing behind you.”

“That’s part of what worries me.”

It was a long moment before I answered. “Me, too.”

 

* * * * *

 

I heard the sound of hoofbeats. Nadia and I climbed up on the captain’s platform to get a better look, and as the party came into view, my heart sank, even as it swelled with satisfaction.

“Maybe there are more, back at the racecourse,” said Nadia.

“There aren’t,” I said with grim certainty.

I made a quick count. Twelve soldiers. As they drew closer, I saw they were all young and most bore the sun tattoo on their faces. Ruby was there, with her pretty green eyes and blond braid, and I saw Vladim among them with two other bearded men I thought I recognized from the Priestguard.

I jumped down from the platform and went to greet them. When the party spotted me, they slipped from their horses and each dropped to one knee, heads bowed.

“Ugh,” said Zoya. “This again.”

“You wouldn’t complain if they were facing you,” I murmured to her.

“Of course not. Have you seen me? I’m worth bowing to.”

I rolled my eyes. “Stand up,” I said to them. “Where are the rest of you?”

Vadim stepped forward and said, eyes swimming with regret, “It is only us, Sankta.”

I knew I was getting good at cramming my emotions down, because the anger I felt only caused my face to relax.

“And what excuse does the Apparat send?”

He swallowed. “None. The pilgrims say daily prayers for your safety and for the destruction of the Fold. He claims that your last command was for him to watch over your flock.”

I smiled. “Not technically a lie, as is his specialty. I don’t suppose you know how he justified denying me access to my own soldiers?”

Ruby answered this time. “The only reason we knew that you and Nikolai Lantsov had requested help was because a monk loyal to you retrieved the message from the Church of Sankt Lukin.”

“And the fact that there are so few of you….” I prompted.

Vladim smiled and those absurd dimples appeared in his cheeks again. He exchanged a glance with Ruby.

“We escaped,” she said.

I’d known the Apparat wasn’t to be trusted, and yet some part of me had hoped he had at least learned his place enough to follow the important orders. But why would he, when instead, he could do what he did best: wait. When the dust cleared, either I would have defeated the Darkling or found my martyrdom. Either way, men would still take up arms in my name and he would have a story ready on his lips. The Apparat’s empire of the faithful would rise.

“I trust you keep the names of the loyal close to your heart,” I said to Vadim.

“Yes, Sankta,” he replied, clasping his fist over the scar of my handprint on his chest. “Many more would have come if they had been given the chance.”

I looked at Nikolai where he stood toward the back of our group. After a moment, he gave a single, grim nod. This was it, then.

I turned around and took in the others. My eyes skipped over Mal, though it caused a pang of guilt in my stomach, and lingered on Genya.

“Last chance to back out,” I said. “Your safety is a condition of my return, and between me and the kapitan here,” I nodded my head toward Nikolai, “we’ll see to it you go anywhere you want.”

I held my breath through a long silence. Nadia was giving me a steady, almost bleak look, her arm around Aidrik. The younger Squaller rolled his eyes. Everyone else just looked back at me, steady and determined.

Nikolai walked up behind me and said brightly, “Now that that’s settled, let’s have a chat about our wardrobe.”

I groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Regarding the next chapter (is status update):** Buckle in for one of the longer wait periods, probably. I can't force it or it won't be nearly as good, and for whatever reason, it's jut not ready to come out yet. But we are here, lurking in the shadows, and ready.  
>  /status update
> 
> Being the insanely lucky lady I am, I have picked up a Beta: [Smiling_Penelope!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smiling_Penelope/pseuds/Smiling_Penelope) While she's arse-deep in dental school, too *_*
> 
> AND I had a second guest Beta for the pre-final draft of this chapter, [BookDragon14!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookDragon14/pseuds/BookDragon14)
> 
> *the luckiest lady*
> 
> It should be noted that I get mad senioritis when a chapter is pretty much finished, though, so I miiiiight have ignored some of the advice in my frothing need to get it posted. So. Yeah.


End file.
